


Hear You Me

by Klitch



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Spoilers for Missing Kings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klitch/pseuds/Klitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Munakata's death, Scepter 4 copes and rebuilds. Fushimi does neither.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. on sleepless roads the sleepless go

**Author's Note:**

> Because it's been a while since I wrote anything long. I may have fudged some of the worldbuilding here but honestly the series itself is shaky enough on that in various respects that I think it can be forgiven. Will obviously be made non-canon once S2 airs, but I wanted to explore the idea anyway. This'll probably be about 3 or 4 chapters, depending on how I decide to split it up.

The alarm rang and Awashima woke slowly and stretched. It was early, but she had work to do and there was no time for lying around. Awashima carefully climbed out of bed and then took a quick shower and put up her hair as she dressed. There wasn’t even time for so much as a quick bite of anko before she headed for the door. She could get breakfast on the way to work or stop at the bar later if she got really hungry. She simply didn’t seem to have much of an appetite these days anyway.

Halfway to the apartment door she stopped, turned and faced the closed door of the spare bedroom. Awashima stared at it for a long moment, then sighed and knocked sharply on the doorframe.

"Fushimi-kun, I'm leaving. You know where I'll be, if you ever want to join me."

There was no answer, not that she had expected one. There was a muffled sound from inside and she could already imagine the movements behind the closed door, the figure wrapped in blankets shifting slightly before rolling over and falling back into a fitful sleep.

Awashima sighed again and turned away, despite all her instincts wanting her to speak sharp words of command, to get the figure inside to get up, to move, to do _something._ But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it, not when she had some idea of how he felt. Fushimi had always been a difficult person to deal with and after everything that had happened…it was to be expected, she supposed.

After all, it had only been a week since the Blue King had died with Fushimi's sword in his heart.

\---

The government office Awashima was currently assigned to wasn't as nice as Scepter 4's had been, but it was serviceable. The repairs on the old building were still ongoing, after all, and Awashima supposed she was lucky they were sparing her a computer at all. All around her was a sea of black suits but Awashima still wore the usual blue. She knew the looks it would bring and she welcomed them. Let them know that her loyalty, at least, still had not wavered.

Such treatment wasn’t really surprising, all told. Government officials who had chafed for years under the rule of kings smelled the blood in the water now, with four thrones sitting empty. Scepter 4 was suddenly expected to justify its very existence and Awashima had herself chosen to be the one to do it. Once her proposal was ready, she was prepared to fight for her department. For her clan.

For _Munakata Reisi's_ clan.

She had the Silver King on her side, at least, but who knew how much good that would do. He was the first and oldest king, true, and the most sensible replacement in the Gold King's absence, but he was also currently easily mistaken for a high schooler and had only two clansmen to his name. Awashima couldn't count on his favor being enough to get Scepter 4 back to what it was. The Red King would be on her side too, but that was an even dimmer prospect — most of the government officials who were aware of the kings had little use for the Red King even when Suoh Mikoto held the throne and they likely held it in even greater contempt now that the new King was only a young girl.

Though that could really be in her favor after all, Awashima thought with a slight smile. Better they should underestimate the Red King, at least for now. The element of surprise would come in handy enough and a certain bartender had been very helpful in giving her some less than public information on where various bureaucratic loyalties lay. For the moment, anyway, Awashima needed all the advantages she could get.

"Coffee, ma'am?" A polite but familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Akiyama-kun!" Awashima started in surprise. Akiyama smiled warmly at her as he laid the cup down beside her. He was, Awashima noted, also wearing blue.

With their headquarters (temporarily) destroyed and their department currently in a state of limbo, the remainder of Scepter 4's forces had been put on temporary leave to find work or do as they wished. Awashima knew where several of them had gone but she had not been aware that Akiyama was working in the same office.

"Benzai is here too," Akiyama continued, reading the question in her eyes. "In another part of the building. We wanted to be close, just in case..." He trailed off.

"I know." Awashima turned to look back at her screen.

"How are you?" Akiyama ventured after a moment.

Awashima hesitated for a moment then sighed, smiling ruefully.

"I am...." She shook her head, trailing off. "I'm doing what the Captain would have wanted me to do."

"Lieutenant..." Akiyama looked worried and Awashima took a slow drink of the coffee he had given her.

"No, it's fine," Awashima assured him. "I only...it's hard to believe he's gone, that's all. And in the end, I couldn't..."

"You were needed elsewhere," Akiyama said. "I'm sure the Captain would understand."

"I know." Awashima stared into her cup.

"...Have you heard from him?" Akiyama seemed hesitant to ask the question and Awashima knew at once who he meant.

"Fushimi-kun is recovering in my apartment currently."

"He is...?" Akiyama couldn't hide his surprise.

"The Captain would have wanted that too, I think." In truth, she hadn't intended to take him in, not at first. Several days after…the incident…had happened, she'd heard that Fushimi had been released from the hospital but hadn't been able to uncover any further information of his whereabouts beyond that. Awashima had eventually decided to go take stock of the damage to Scepter 4's building and it was there that she had found him, slumped against a crumbling wall, a bag with all he'd managed to salvage from his dorm room at his side. He'd been staring blankly at nothing as if he didn't even see her there. When she'd come up to him and asked how long he'd been there he had only shrugged, not looking at her, and the bandages on his arms were dirty as if they hadn't been changed in some time. When she'd finally taken his hand he hadn't pulled away as expected and had instead passively allowed her to help him to his feet. She had learned very quickly that Fushimi had nowhere to go and Awashima’s decision had been more or less made for her.

"Is he...all right?" Akiyama asked quietly. Awashima stared at her computer for a long moment, remembering the closed door and shifting blankets she had left behind in the apartment.

"To be honest....I don't know."

\---

_Everything was gray, the sky and the ground, everything but his blue coat and the two swords that hung in the air, blue and green, and Fushimi felt as if he was looking at the whole thing from outside somehow, as if his body was moving but without his will moving it. It was as though there was glass behind his eyes and he could only press up against it and stare out, unable to break through._

_His hands were moving on the keyboard of his PDA and there was a glowing screen in front of him, words hanging in the air. Fushimi pressed himself against the glass and watched his own body work._

_( ( jungle ) )_

_His login and password were still good, just as he’d been promised, and Fushimi began to type even faster. From outside and beyond himself there was the knowledge that this was no good, that he couldn’t do it — flames and fireworks and he knew that even now he still didn’t have the strength to hack the system set in place by the Green King._

That’s fine. _He thought it and yet he didn’t, the him on the other side of the glass thought it and Fushimi’s body shook with the echo of those thoughts. He wasn’t worried about success, about strength. Time was all he was after. Time, diversion, a moment’s breath that held a bit too long. He would be a fly, be a buzzing gnat, a bee if he could, hovering around the Green King’s face. The time that was wasted swatting him would be good enough even if he didn’t manage to land the sting._

_Green and blue swords hung in the air and he only needed time._

_He knew what was going on elsewhere beyond his current vantage point. Elsewhere Kings and clans raged in battle, but he was behind glass and beyond, and his body was sitting on the ground in an empty park, clothes tattered and bloodstained — there was a deep still-bleeding cut on his shoulder that he knew he should remember how it got there, and then red hair flashed in his mind and he pushed it away, no time, no time, he had a job to do, he had to save that time for other things and he could remember later -- and his eyes were trained only on the screen in front of him._

_The screen suddenly changed, from soft blue to green so bright it hurt his eyes, almost enough to break the glass as it cut through the gray like a knife, and Fushimi’s entire body stiffened as every nerve screamed in pain._

Virus. Virus.

_He knew it,_ knew, _could feel it coursing through his veins even as it went through his computer, and his head felt like it was trapped in a vise. Even so he kept typing, kept working. He was only a bee, that was all, and the stinger wasn’t pulled out of him yet. There was a voice he remembered that echoed in the back of his head, laughing — virus, virus, aren’t you catching a cold little monkey?— but he kept on working. Time, time. That was all that mattered. Even if he failed it didn’t matter. He only needed to be the fly that distracted the Green King long enough for Munakata to do what had to be done._

_Something echoed through him and there were lights, green, blue. Time, time._

_Pain. Laughter. Virus. Time. Glass shattered, and he screamed._

_When he knew where he was again he was lying on the grass with blood dripping from his nose. The green was gone and now the blue was too bright._

_Munakata was standing in front of him, smiling sadly, and Fushimi_ remembered.

_Munakata’s coat was torn and bloodied, and he was bleeding still from a deep gash in his side that looked as though it could only have been made by a blade, though the Green King carried none. He stood in front of a shallow crater and Fushimi could almost see the silhouette of a corpse lying in the center of it. Above Munakata’s head was a crumbling sword and Fushimi’s head began to pound like a drum._

_The glass was there again and he could only watch what he knew was coming, the thing he couldn’t stop, and somewhere deep inside he felt himself trembling as the images flashed through his head so fast he couldn’t quite grasp them all. The Sword of Damocles hanging in the air, falling to pieces. The Green King’s dead body lying in the center of the crater. Blue again, Munakata’s coat, Munakata’s sword. Red blood and blue light burning his eyes and Fushimi’s vision went gray. Munakata’s arms were wide open and he spoke but Fushimi could not hear the words over the wind howling in his ears._

_Fushimi knew what was happening now and his body moved like a puppet as he reached for his fallen sword, rising on legs he couldn’t even feel._

_Power burst around him —_

_—blue, blue—_

_—blood dripping and light pulsing around him—_

_—the Sword of Damocles falling, and there was only one thing to do--_

_Fushimi’s sword was bright like a star and he stabbed with all his might, blue power exploding around him as his arms blossomed bright red with blood, pain shooting white-hot through his body as his sword found its home in Munakata’s chest._

_Bright red blood and the Sword of Damocles was gone. Munakata smiled tenderly down at him._

_“Fushimi-kun…” He spoke but Fushimi couldn’t hear anymore and everything melted away into gray._

Fushimi woke with a choked cough, breathing hard. He could feel the bile rising in his throat and he stumbled to his feet, struggling to disentangle himself from the blankets as he lurched towards the bathroom.

He made it just in time. There was a creeping feeling of shame running down his spine as he leaned over the toilet, stomach heaving, his breath hitching spasmodically as he threw up what little was in his stomach. Fushimi swallowed hard, body bent almost in two as he tried to slow the convulsive shivers running through him. He grasped nervously at his bandaged arms, swallowing hard as he leaned against the wall and waited for his stomach to stop churning.

When he finally felt that he could move without being assaulted by the need to throw up again Fushimi pushed forward on shaking legs and stumbled towards the sink. He washed his mouth out slowly, feeling stretched thin and worn.

Fushimi glanced upwards, staring at his reflection in the mirror, slightly blurry without his glasses on. He looked like absolute shit, and Fushimi smiled bitterly.

Most of the dream was slipping away now and he let it go almost gratefully. In truth, Fushimi remembered very little of what had happened in the park and not much more of what had come before. The last clear memory he could recall was sitting at his desk in Scepter 4 headquarters when the alarm went off signaling the Green King’s attack, jumping to his feet and drawing his sword before something blew a hole in the wall.

Everything became jumbled after that. He remembered explosions and rubble, yelled orders, enemies attacking. Recalled running through the city in pursuit of a figure in green and brief flash of Bar Homra (Misaki, maybe, but when he thought too hard about that his shoulder started to throb painfully, so he didn’t linger on that fragment too long). Two swords of Damocles in the air, his hands flashing across a keyboard and laughter in his ears. Blood running down his arms. Swords falling, light, color, and then—

Munakata’s body in his arms as he sat on the edge of a battlefield and the look on Awashima’s face when she found him there.

Another shiver coursed through his body and Fushimi’s face twisted in disgust as he found himself leaning over the toilet again. Fushimi grabbed at his throat, trying to slow his ragged breathing, and after a moment it passed and he lay stretched out on the bathroom tiles, breathing hard as though he’d run a marathon, body shaking with each breath. One of his hands reached over and picked at a bandage on the other arm, unraveling it slightly so that he could reach one of the scars beneath. Fushimi scratched at it mechanically as he lay there, resting his cheek against the cool tile, waiting for his heartbeat to slow back to normal.

The air in the bathroom felt stuffy and stale, settling in his lungs like a weight, and Fushimi staggered to his feet. His stomach growled in protest and he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He knew from prior exploration that the only food Awashima had in the entire apartment was anko and health food, so he supposed it was as good an excuse as any to get out the apartment that felt too small and closed in all of a sudden.

Fushimi slowly made his way back into the small guest room Awashima was allowing him to use, fumbling for his glasses. What little he owned was still stuffed in a duffel bag that lay in the far corner of the room where he’d dropped it the day Awashima had dragged him in and told him he’d be staying with her for the time being.

He hadn’t really intended to go with her. In truth, Fushimi hadn’t made any plans at all. He knew that he probably should have, that his brain should have been working overtime to find any answer to the problem in front of him, but when he’d left the hospital and found himself staring at the crumbled mess that was Scepter 4’s dormitories he’d somehow found himself unable to think of anything at all. So he’d simply gathered up his things and sat there and waited, and even now he wasn’t certain what he’d been waiting for.

Who he’d been waiting for.

Fushimi shook his head to clear the unpleasant thoughts from it and dug around through the bag for some suitable clothing. He pulled it on carefully, his arms already starting to throb again. It was all a bother, somehow — getting dressed, moving, breathing. All of it felt too tiring somehow, as if all his strength had been poured out on the ground in the park along with Munakata’s blood. The comparison made his stomach twist, a crooked smile winding its way across his face.

Out the window he could see that there was a light snow falling and Fushimi hesitated. He had no coat but the one that was part of his uniform, the blue coat that was still ragged and stained with blood.

Stained with Munakata’s blood, and Fushimi wrapped a scarf around his neck and walked out the door without any coat at all.

The apartment Awashima was renting was in a fairly busy part of town — he had no idea if she was using savings from her usual salary to pay for it or if it had been rented for her with assistance from Scepter 4’s budget and he couldn’t really bring himself to care in any case — and the sidewalks were filled with people. Fushimi hung back close against the buildings, cold brick against his side, and pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. The air was a bitter sort of cold and his hands were already freezing but he wasn’t even sure if he owned a pair of gloves.

He wandered aimlessly along the streets, not really sure where he was headed. There were a few cafes dotting the streets but they were all fairly full — Fushimi had apparently woken up just in time for lunch — and he didn’t feel up to sitting in a place full of people. His stomach rumbled again and his fingers were starting to feel slightly numb. He reached up and slid a hand inside one of his long sleeves, picking idly at another of the scars beneath the bandages on his arms.

Fushimi walked through another crosswalk and down an alley and then suddenly he froze, his entire body going stiff and he fell back against the closest building for a moment, trying to steady himself.

In front of him there was the entrance to a park blocked off by police tape and the signs of destruction visible even from a distance, and Fushimi realized _exactly_ where he’d walked to.

With a curse he turned and half-ran in the opposite direction, never stopping to even look back, scratching furiously at his arms.

He made a quick turn around the nearest corner, ducking behind a building with his head down against the oncoming chill wind. His stomach had started churning again as if he was about to be sick and all thoughts of getting something to eat were gone from his head. He only wanted to get back to the apartment and climb back into bed, and hopefully sleep without dreaming.

“Ouch!” There was a strangely familiar yelp as he ran into something solid and fell back onto the ground. Fushimi winced as he caught himself, his bare hands cold against the concrete.

“Hey, watch where you’re going…Fushimi-san?” At the sound of his name Fushimi raised his head.

“…Hidaka?”

“Fushimi-san!” Hidaka jumped to his feet, smiling widely. He was dressed, Fushimi noted, in the uniform of a nearby supermarket. Judging by the boxes on the ground he had apparently been in the middle of a delivery. But the coat that he had thrown on haphazardly over his uniform was a very familiar blue, and Fushimi’s arms itched. “You’re okay!”

“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue as he carefully tried to climb to his feet. His limbs didn’t seem to want to stop shaking and he suddenly found them sliding out from under him.

“H-hey, careful!” Hidaka caught him and steadied him, and Fushimi felt his ears burning from something more than the cold. “Are you all right? Last I heard from the Lieutenant you were still in the hospital after…what happened.” His eyes clouded slightly.

“I’m fine,” Fushimi said curtly, pulling away. He gave Hidaka a flat look. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“A-ah, this, right.” Hidaka looked down at his uniform and laughed sheepishly. “Well, since we’re kinda in limbo right now I had to take a temp job. Some of the other guys did too, Eno and Fuse and Goty and me are all combining our salaries to share a place until the dorms get rebuilt.” His face turned suddenly serious. “Um, Fushimi-san…Scepter 4 _will_ get rebuilt, right? I mean, I know…that is, I know the— the C-Captain…” He trailed off awkwardly, shook his head and tried again. “I mean, Scepter 4 still has a job to do, right? Even if— even if we don’t have a king, we still can…I mean, we’re…”

“How the hell should I know?” Fushimi snapped irritably. Hidaka was looking at him with a sympathy far too close to pity for Fushimi’s taste and it was making him even more annoyed. “Ask the Lieutenant. She’s been handling all of that.”

“Lieutenant Awashima has?” Hidaka repeated, surprised. “That’s great! I’ve been really worried that maybe we wouldn’t be able to go back to normal.”

“Are you a moron?” Fushimi asked darkly. “It’s not _normal._ She’s fighting for a pointless cause. Scepter 4 is dead.”

“That’s not true!” Hidaka insisted. “We still have our powers, right? I mean, it won’t be the same like before, sure, but—but I still want to--”

“Shut up,” Fushimi interrupted sharply, pressing a hand against his head. There was a ringing laughter in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away and the wind blowing past his ears seemed to be far louder and stronger than it should have been.

“Fushimi-san?” Hidaka leaned in close again, too close, and Fushimi felt like his body was on fire. He clenched a fist hard against his chest, trying to control his breathing. “Hey, are you all right? Fushimi-san?”

“Go…away…” Fushimi grit out. His head was ringing with the howling of the wind and it was as though the world was fading to gray before his eyes. He could hear Hidaka trying to talk to him again but it was garbled as though it were being run through a filter and all Fushimi could see was gray skies, red blood—

—a flash of blue coat and the Sword of Damocles hanging in the sky—

“Fushimi-san!” Hidaka’s panicked voice broke through the haze as he shook Fushimi hard. Fushimi started, breathing heavily as he stared blankly up at Hidaka’s worried face. “You don’t look so good. Should you be out like this without a coat? Here, take mine…” He started to pull off his blue coat and Fushimi pulled away sharply.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.” Without even waiting for a reply Fushimi turned and all but ran away, ignoring Hidaka’s voice shouting after him. The wind was screaming in his ears like mad laughter and he ran blindly, arms wrapped around himself to ward off the cold.

He didn’t know how he ended up in the park, only that when he was aware of his location again he was kneeling by a familiar crater in the center of a wreckage of shattered trees and torn ground.

_— The Sword of Damocles was crumbling above but all Fushimi could see was Munakata standing there, arms wide open as he spoke—_

_—“I apologize.”_

Fushimi fell to his knees, heedless of the snow seeping through the fabric of his pants. He covered half his face with one hand, trying to bite back the hysterical laughter he could feel rising in his throat, staring at the crater almost defiantly as he spoke.

“My King…is….”

The rest of the words refused to come and Fushimi sat there hunched and silent in the snow, waiting for the ringing laughter in his head to die down.

\---

Yata stepped out of the shop into the cold, shivering a bit as a chill wind blew past him. When Kusanagi had asked him to run and pick up a few things from the store he hadn’t really thought much about it, but it was _really_ cold so far this winter. He let a little bit of red power out, just enough to warm his hands, then pulled a steamed bun out of his bag and began to chew as he walked. Kusanagi had given him a little extra cash to pick up something for himself and the food tasted warm in his mouth.

He began to trot back in the direction of the bar, wishing the snow on the ground would just melt already so he could take his skateboard out again. Kamamoto had offered to go along with him but Kusanagi had needed him to help with another minor repair for some of the damage the bar had suffered the week before, so Yata had gone out alone.

The streets were way too crowded for his liking and Yata wished again he had his skateboard. His eyes strayed to the left, where he could see the bright colors of police tape blocking off entrance to the park that Yata knew could be used as a nice little shortcut back to Bar Homra. He looked around quickly, just to make sure no one was watching, and then hopped over the police tape and into the park.

The ground was covered with a thin layer of snow that couldn’t quite hide the clear signs beneath where dirt had been stirred up and tossed away. Tree branches and even scattered shards of rock dotted the ground and Yata had to be careful to keep from tripping over spots where deep gashes had been scored into the earth.

The air somehow felt chillier in here, more still and stale, and Yata suddenly wished he had just taken the long way. It didn’t feel right, walking in this place, not so soon after what had happened.

_It’s only been a week, huh._ Yata took another bite of his food, staring up at the cloudy sky. His face felt warm despite the chill. It was hard to believe it had only been that long.

Only a week, since two kings had died in this very place. Yata shivered slightly, a deeper cold than the winter air sliding through his bones. He had at least some idea of what exactly had happened here. Kusanagi had told him most of it, though even what Kusanagi knew was only secondhand information from Scepter 4’s lieutenant. Kusanagi and Anna had been elsewhere at the time so it was only much later when they were all back at the bar safe and exhausted that Yata had finally heard the details. Had heard about the Green King’s death.

Heard about the Blue King’s death that had followed, and who had been the one to do it.

“Saruhiko…” The name fell from his lips unbidden and Yata shook his head quickly as if he could remove the thoughts that came with it. Even so, it was no use and Yata’s free hand clenched into a fist.

What was he supposed to think now, anyway? After all that stupid bastard had done, and now this…

Even now Yata felt like he didn’t _really_ know a lot about what had happened the week before, not as much as he felt like he should. Homra had been aware that the Greens were up to something bad, of course, and Yata had been all for going after them and teaching them a lesson for messing with Homra’s King. But then he’d been on his way home from the his part time job when he’d gotten a call from Kusanagi about someone blowing up Scepter 4 headquarters and clans going to war and all kinds of trouble going down and he’d immediately headed for the bar (and if there had been a nervous flutter in his stomach and a tightness in his chest, if he’d felt his body go tense and worried the moment Kusanagi mentioned what had happened at Scepter 4, if his mind had lingered just a bit too long on the word “casualties” and what it could mean, at the time Yata had told himself that still it all meant nothing). By the time he’d gotten there Kusanagi was already gone with Anna but Kamamoto, Chitose and a few of the others were busy trying to hold off a bunch of the Green King’s weird ninjas. Yata had dived right into the fray, weapon blazing, and he’d been so intent on the enemies in front of him that he hadn’t even been aware of the ones at his back until it was too late.

He’d heard Kamamoto yell a warning, had turned just in time to see the flash of two blades heading towards him but he was occupied with multiple enemies at his front plus trying to keep everyone from getting scattered. Even being aware of the sneak attack there was no way to dodge and all of the others were similarly occupied with no one free to help, and Yata had steeled himself for the sharp sting of pain he knew was coming—

—And then Saruhiko had been there, blocking one knife strike with his own weapons even as the second blade sunk deep into his shoulder instead of Yata’s back.

In the moments afterward Yata had tried to tell himself that maybe it hadn’t been what it looked like. Fushimi had been pursuing his own quarry too, then, and he’d left fairly quickly after that to continue after the head lady ninja that Yata had fought back at the tower when they’d been trying to save Anna. Maybe he’d just moved wrong, had stepped left when he meant to go right, maybe he hadn’t seen that second knife, maybe he hadn’t known what he was putting himself between.

Yata had told himself that time and time again, and he still couldn’t manage to convince himself of it. Saruhiko was too smart, too careful. He’d always been the guy who watched and planned. If Saruhiko was in the path of a blade it was only because he’d chosen to be there. And that was the thing that Yata couldn’t understand at all.

They weren’t friends anymore, right? Fushimi had been the one who always said it. Fushimi had betrayed Homra, betrayed Yata, betrayed everything they had together. And he’d always been the one twisting the knife deeper every time they met, the one taunting and teasing and inciting all of Yata’s anger in the way only Fushimi could do. Fushimi had made it more than clear that he no longer saw Yata as a friend even though Yata could never quite bring himself to think of Fushimi as an enemy.

But even for all that, Fushimi had still helped him find Anna when she’d been kidnapped. And then he’d stepped right in between Yata and the weapon that would have at least seriously wounded him, getting injured himself in the process.

Yata’s head hurt again and he sighed heavily. The worst part, as much as he hated to admit it, was that he couldn’t stop himself from wondering where Saruhiko was now, what he was doing. Kusanagi had told him what it was that Saruhiko had apparently done. Told him about how killing the Green King had destabilized the Blue King’s Sword of Damocles and then how Saruhiko had been the one to kill the Blue King before a Damocles Down could kill everyone within range.

It had to hurt, right? Yata didn’t really have any particular love for the Blue King but still, that was Fushimi’s _King._ Yata couldn’t even imagine how he would feel if he’d had to be the one to kill Mikoto in order to save everyone else.

He stepped past a small cluster of intact trees and froze as he walked out into the center of the park. The ground in front of him was completely bare, all the trees torn away and turned to shattered bits of wood and right in the center of it all a small crater that marked the deathbed of a king.

There was a figure kneeling in the snow in front of the crater and Yata sucked in a quick breath as he stepped back behind the trees.

_Saruhiko?_ It was definitely him and Yata felt suddenly lightheaded.

All Kusanagi had been able to tell him after the whole thing was done was that Fushimi was alive but in the hospital. That was all. Not even so much as an idea of what Fushimi’s condition was, if he would be okay, where he was going to go afterward. Only that he was alive and injured, and Yata suddenly felt as if a weight that been settling in his chest ever since had finally disappeared.

_He’s alive._ Yata peered back towards where Fushimi still sat kneeling motionless in the snow. He didn’t know if he wanted to smile or get angry, but there was an undeniable feeling of gratitude surging through him. _He’s alive. He’s all right._

Looking closer, Yata thought maybe he’d have to revise that second statement. Fushimi wasn’t wearing a coat and even from a distance Yata could see that he looked chilled to the bone. A very old, well-known feeling of indignation stirred within Yata, the unforgotten longing to stride up to Fushimi and scold him for going out without proper winter things on, to wrap him in a coat and drag him back to their apartment (because it was always their apartment that Yata thought of first, _theirs_ , not _his_ , because Yata’s own place had never felt quite like home when he had no one to share it with). Yata forced it down and took another quick bite of his bun to distract himself, turning so that his back was to Fushimi.

It looked like there had been some kind of bandages on his arms, too. Yata stared fixedly down at his feet. Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t known that Fushimi would be injured — Kusanagi had said he was in the hospital for a while, after all. But still….Yata shifted. There was no way to see how far up those bandages extended, if there was another one swathing Fushimi’s shoulder or maybe just a thin red scar that was the only proof of the blade whose path he’d knowingly stepped into.

And he really had knowingly stepped into it. To save Yata, Fushimi had let himself be injured. Even though they were in separate clans, even though they were supposed to be enemies now.

_I should talk to him._ The thought ran through his mind but his legs wouldn’t move. It would be all right to just talk to him, right? After all, Yata knew how much it sucked to lose your king, how terrible it felt, and Yata hadn’t even had to deal with the double weight of having had to do the deed himself. Maybe there was something he could say, that might make Saruhiko feel better. Maybe they could just talk, the way they used to, and Yata could ask him about that moment at the bar with the two of them and the Greens and the two knives and maybe just this once he’d get an honest answer.

Just this once, just this one moment when they finally had a terrible sort of common ground, maybe they could just talk. Maybe Yata could ask Fushimi if they could be friends again, and maybe Fushimi would accept.

Yata turned back towards the crater, steeling his nerves as he stepped out into clear view, but Fushimi was already gone.

\---

Awashima sighed wearily as she unlocked the door to her apartment. It had been a long day, though not one without its good points. She’d had a good talk with Akiyama and Benzai during lunch break and that had given her a few ideas on how to proceed with her proposal. And if nothing else she had learned that most of the Special Forces members were ready and waiting to return to Scepter 4, King or no King, and that was the kind of hopeful prospect she needed right now.

As she stepped into the apartment her eyes were immediately drawn to the figure sitting crumpled on the sofa, not even looking at her, and she hesitated only a moment before walking past him towards her room to put her things down. Fushimi didn’t so much as look up but Awashima supposed it could be considered a good sign, that he’d actually left his room. She left her door open and observed him quietly as she laid down her briefcase and put down her hair.

He looked worn out and thin, his face almost as white as the bandages on his arms. She noted that a few of the bandages were fraying, as if he’d been picking at then, and there were several small dots of bright red blood on his left arm near the wrist. His eyes were half-closed and his face and pant legs were slightly wet. He was wearing a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck and his shoes were still on, and she wondered if he’d actually gone outside.

She walked past him again, heading for the kitchen this time, and Fushimi only uncurled slightly as she went past. Awashima busied herself getting a drink, her face lowered, trying to swallow her own feelings of guilt.

She had a made a promise, a vow to her King, that she would do what had to be done. She had prepared herself for the possibility, and had pledged her sword and her life to that duty.

_“Captain, if the time should come…I will, with my own hands, do my duty to the end.”_

Her own words rang mockingly in her head and Awashima closed her eyes as she rested her arms on the counter. All that she had said, and yet when the time had arrived she hadn’t even been anywhere nearby. After the explosion at headquarters their forces had been scattered, fragmented, chased down by the Green King’s clan and driven into a corner. In the midst of that chaos, Munakata had looked to her to keep order. He had sent her to gather up all of their forces that she could and to hold off the Greens for as long as possible. The last thing she had said to him was for him to be careful, and he’d smiled at her in a way that made her throat catch whenever she thought back on it — the last time he had ever smiled at her, there in the middle of the rubble that had been their headquarters, and she had never even let herself dare to think for a moment that it would be the last time. And then he had turned and gone off on his own and she had let him go. As his loyal second in command, she had followed his orders and let him go.

Awashima had let her king walk away from her and the duty she had sworn to do had fallen to her subordinate instead, and the weight of it was clearly crushing him.

_Perhaps I am a heartless woman after all._ Awashima smiled ruefully, resting her head in her arms. She hadn’t even been able to say anything to Fushimi, when she had found him in the park with the dead body of her King in his arms. She hadn’t cried either, not then. She’d only steeled herself and begun giving out orders to secure the area. If Fushimi hadn’t taken that moment to promptly collapse she didn’t even know what she would have said next.

_And what could I have said to him?_ Awashima raised her head slightly to look back at the figure on the couch. They were adrift, both of them, without Munakata there. But Awashima had found something to cling to at least, something to focus on to give herself strength and keep herself moving. Munakata would not have wanted his clan to die with him, she was sure of that. She had never asked any of the others if that was what they wanted. She had only chosen the path she thought her King would have wanted her to walk and followed it.

But that still left Fushimi and with him she was at a loss. Munakata would have known what to do, she was certain of that. He somehow always knew exactly how to deal with Fushimi, how to counter his bad attitude and self destructive tendencies. But Awashima herself had never been quite sure what to do with him and she knew even less now. She would apologize if she thought it would do any good, if she thought he wouldn’t laugh in her face. The only thing she could think of that she could have done to help him was to keep him out of that situation to begin with, and it was far too late for that. She’d taken him in because he had nowhere else to go but if there was nothing else she could offer him besides a roof over his head, then what good was she to him at all?

“He apologized.” Fushimi’s voice cut through her thoughts, made her jump slightly. Awashima stared at him blankly as he gave a bitter laugh, head still turned away from her and eyes still closed. “Before I stabbed him. The bastard _apologized._ ”

“Fushimi-kun…” Awashima took a step towards him but he fell silent and still, as if he hadn’t even spoken. Awashima stared at him for a long moment and then managed a small smile.

She wasn’t Munakata. She couldn’t offer him any advice or even any words of comfort. She could only be herself, and offer him things he would accept from her.

Awashima picked up a book from the counter and walked over to the couch, sitting so that there was only a small distance between herself and Fushimi. She opened her book with one hand as the other reached over and carefully touched Fushimi, pulling him forward slightly so that his head was resting on her shoulder. He tensed noticeably but didn’t pull away, and his breathing was strained and exhausted.

Awashima sat there and read her book, never moving with his head on her shoulder, and Fushimi slept.


	2. your own shadows turn into ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Fushimi and Yata finally interact and everything is terrible.

A week later and Awashima sighed as she looked through her refrigerator. She’d been extra busy at work the last few days, sorting out the final parts of her proposal. Her hearing was set for the next morning and there was at least one last thing to take care of before she was finished. 

Well, perhaps two last things, and she glanced over at the figure sitting hunched on her couch. At least he’d gotten out of bed. 

Fushimi’s condition had gotten marginally better, she supposed, since that day a week ago when she’d let him sleep on her shoulder. He still refused to come to work with her and had yet to even so much as leave the apartment, but the last several days she’d come back to find him sitting on the couch, shoulders slumped, posture terrible as always, watching TV. He didn’t see to be watching any actual shows as far as she could tell — yesterday there had been some sort of romance drama on that she couldn’t imagine Fushimi ever watching by choice — but Awashima was beginning to regard his getting up as a small victory at least. 

Still, they couldn’t go on this way forever and Awashima considered her options. There was, she was beginning to understand, a very delicate balancing act when it came to Fushimi, limits to how far she could push and unlike Munakata she had not quite figured out where those limits began and ended. But he was better than he had been and she decided to take a small risk. 

“Fushimi-kun.” Awashima walked up behind him. He didn’t move, didn’t look at her, still staring fixedly at the TV that he certainly wasn’t watching. It looked like some kind of cartoon this time, with colorful animals singing a song about friendship. Awashima couldn’t help a slight smile, Fushimi _definitely_ wasn’t paying attention if he hadn’t changed the channel yet. Awashima moved so that she was standing in front of him, summoning up her best ‘I-am-your-superior-officer’ voice. “Fushimi-kun.” 

“Mmm.” Fushimi’s eyes moved slightly to look up at her but his hunched position remained. He looked like a sullen child, which was far preferable to the fragile shell she’d been dealing with for the last couple weeks. This was more like the old Fushimi and it gave Awashima a bit more confidence. 

“Since you don’t seem to be busy at the moment, I need you to run an errand for me.” Awashima crossed her arms and waited. Fushimi stared at her for a long moment and then finally uncurled slightly. There was a slight hint of defiance in his expression and the distinct familiarity of it made Awashima suddenly feel better than she had since that terrible day in the park weeks ago. 

“Why do I have to?” Fushimi mumbled the words into his shirt collar, clicking his tongue as he averted his eyes. 

“Because I have an important meeting to finish getting ready for,” Awashima said. “You have nothing in particular to take care of today, I see. You should be able to handle a trip down to the supermarket and back. And seeing as you are not being expected to pay rent at the moment, I would think you could find the time to give me a hand.” 

“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue again and looked irritated, but he stood up all the same. Awashima smiled and walked back over to the counter where her briefcase was, reaching for her wallet and her PDA. 

“I’m sending you a mail with the list of things I need,” Awashima continued as Fushimi trudged to his room for his shoes, grumbling under his breath the whole way. “It shouldn’t take long, but I’ll give you a little extra if you want to stop and get something to eat for yourself first.” She kept her voice even as she spoke, she had been careful not to mention his eating habits — or lack thereof, currently — because she knew he wouldn’t react well, but even so it was hard not to worry about how little she’d seen him eat these days. “Oh, and Fushimi-kun, it’s cold out so wear a coat.” 

“Don’t have one,” Fushimi drawled from the other room and Awashima sighed. It was like having the little brother she had never asked for or wanted, yet couldn’t help but be fond of nonetheless. 

“Honestly, Fushimi-kun.” Awashima turned to look at him as he walked back into the room. He had at least put on a sweater, which wasn’t quite ideal but better than nothing at all. 

“This is fine,” Fushimi muttered, hands stuffed in his pockets. “It’s not far, right?” 

“I suppose.” There wasn’t much choice in any case, but Awashima made a mental note to ask Kusanagi if he had any extra coats she could borrow the next time she spoke with him. She held out the money and Fushimi took it with another irritated click of his tongue. 

One of his sleeves fell back slightly and she could see that his bandages had gotten unwound again on his left arm even though she’d made him change them the night before. It worried her slightly but Awashima decided to avoid saying anything for now. She’d gotten him to climb out his shell just a bit, she had to tread lightly to be sure he didn’t curl back inside. 

Fushimi pulled his hand back and turned towards the door without another word, his eyes looking far away again. 

“Fushimi-kun.” Awashima stopped him as he opened the door and he looked back at her curiously. Awashima managed a slight smile. “Be sure to get yourself something to eat, all right?” 

Fushimi looked momentarily surprised and then nodded slowly. 

“I’m going now,” he murmured as he let the door close behind him. Awashima watched his back until it disappeared. 

A small victory, to be sure. But with all the losses they had sustained recently Awashima would take her victories where she found them, and she turned and went back to her own preparations. 

— 

“Can’t we go back to the bar, Yata-san? It’s cold.” 

“I just wanna check out one more thing.” Yata walked quickly along the sidewalk, Kamamoto a few steps behind. “There could be more of those guys around still.” 

“We already got rid of their hideout, though,” Kamamoto said. “You know Kusanagi-san said to make sure the place was empty and then come back.” 

“Well, yeah, but…” Yata shifted restlessly. Ever since he’d passed Fushimi in the park he’d been feeling oddly tense, as if there was something inside him holding back and it irritated him. He wanted action, a good fight, anything to keep his mind off the various uncomfortable things that kept prodding at the edges of it. “A-anyway, what’s wrong with one more patrol? Kusanagi-san even said there’s probably gonna be more criminals than usual invading our territory now, we have to be ready, right?” 

“More Strains coming out of the woodwork, huh?” Kamamoto crossed his arms and nodded. “Now that Scepter 4’s gone, I guess.” 

“Stop talking about that,” Yata grumbled, looking away. 

“Hmm?” Kamamoto looked confused. “What’s wrong, Yata-san? You don’t like Scepter 4, right?” 

“It’s not like it matters either way anymore,” Yata said. “My opinion, I mean.” 

Kamamoto looked at him for a long moment, his face suddenly thoughtful. 

“Yata-san…have you talked to Fushimi at all?” 

“Who-who the hell said anything about that bastard?” Yata snapped. He immediately turned on his heel and started to stalk away from Kamamoto. “I changed my mind. I’m going back to my place.” 

“Yata-san, wait up, I didn’t mean—” Kamamoto called after him but Yata didn’t turn, stuffing his hands in his pockets and slouching his shoulders as he walked. 

_It’s not like I care about that guy anyway,_ Yata thought stubbornly. _He’s a traitor, right? Why the hell should I care about how a traitor’s doing?_

His chest ached for a second and Yata shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He glanced upward at the gray sky, watching the snow as it fell to the ground. 

“Not like I care about him,” Yata repeated quietly even though he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself. 

_I should’ve talked to him._ He couldn’t help it. No matter how many times he’d tried to tell himself over and over that Fushimi would never be his friend again, he’d never been able to quite convince himself of its truth. It had always been there, that small hope that maybe Fushimi could still come back, that maybe he would apologize, that maybe somehow they could still be friends. No matter how much they fought, how much of each other’s blood they spilled, there had always been a part of Yata that couldn’t stop hoping for his best friend to come back to him. 

He knew Fushimi had to be suffering now. There was no way it could be anything else. Even a guy like Fushimi, who didn’t hold on to anything, even someone like him _had_ to be effected by having to kill his own King. It was Yata’s chance to try and reach him, and he’d let it go. 

_I want to see him again._ It was a longing that went down to his very bones. 

Yata turned a corner and stopped dead. Fushimi was standing a few feet in front of him in the doorway of a convenience store, back turned, a plastic bag in his hand and muttering to himself as he sorted through his purchase. 

_Saru?_ Yata took a step backwards and then stopped himself, clenching his fists. Raising his head high, he walked over towards Fushimi with clear purpose. As he got close, he reached out without a hint of hesitation and grabbed Fushimi’s wrist. The skin felt cold to the touch and Yata thought he could almost feel the bones beneath. 

“Saruhiko.” 

Fushimi whirled to face him, eyes wide, and Yata met his gaze steadily. 

_I want to talk to you. I want to ask you why you saved me. I want to know if you’re okay._

A hundred different questions ran through his mind, and Yata opened his mouth. 

“You wanna get something to eat?” 

— 

“Here’s yours.” Yata coughed awkwardly as he set down the tray, sliding a small white paper bag over to Fushimi. Fushimi didn’t even look at him as he started to unwrap the paper from his food, picking at the edges of it, and Yata slid into the seat across from him. 

_This is bad._ Yata quietly berated himself. He’d intended to confront Fushimi properly and yet here he was, sitting in a greasy booth eating fast food as if they were back in middle school again. 

Yata risked raising his eyes to look at his current companion. Fushimi had taken the bun off his hamburger and was carefully removing the lettuce and tomato, eyes intent on his food as if Yata wasn’t even there. 

_Don’t just eat the meat, you need to have some vegetables too._ The part of Yata that could never quite stop looking after Fushimi’s welfare was already stirring indignantly. Fushimi had always been like this, picking apart anything Yata made for him, insisting only on eating what he knew he liked. If it wasn’t exactly the way he wanted it to be he would refuse to eat at all, hunger before imperfection. 

_He looks a little sick. Was he always this thin?_ Yata bit his lip, eyes inexorably drawn to the bandages he could see peeking out Fushimi’s sleeves. Up close now he could tell they looked a little frayed on the edges and there was something slightly stiff about the way Fushimi moved, as if he was trying to avoid aggravating a wound. 

Yata shifted in his seat, eyes not leaving Fushimi’s hunched figure, taking a bite of his own food and not really tasting any of it. 

_What do I say?_ It wasn’t like he could just blurt it out. _‘Oh, hey, Saruhiko, I heard you killed your King, do you want to be friends again?’_

“Did you drag me here just to watch me eat?” Fushimi asked mildly and Yata jumped slightly. 

“N-no,” he muttered, averting his eyes. “I just…thought you looked like you needed something to eat, that’s all.” 

“I wasn’t aware you were my babysitter, _Misaki._ ” There was the usual taunting lilt in Fushimi’s voice as he spoke the name but all the music had been strained out of it and the tone was oddly flat, like a singer who knew the words of the song but had forgotten the notes entirely. He stood as if to leave, food barely touched. 

“Saru, wait.” Yata reached for his wrist and Fushimi immediately pulled his arm out of reach. “Come on, just—just sit and eat with me, all right? You came all the way here, didn’t you?” 

“Tch.” Fushimi crossed his arms, clearly irritated, but he sat back down anyway. Yata took that as an encouraging sign and risked leaning across the table a little. 

“So eat something?” Yata tried. 

“There’s sauce on it,” Fushimi stated, pushing the hamburger towards Yata. “I don’t like sauce.” 

_You don’t like anything._ Yata couldn’t quite bring himself to say it, but he smiled a little at the thought anyway. 

“Just go tell them at the counter you wanted it plain then,” Yata said. 

“Don’t want to.” Fushimi wasn’t looking at him now, apparently doing his level best to pretend he was alone. 

“Saruhiko…” 

“Did you damage that tiny brain of yours, Misaki?” Fushimi asked. “I’m not your friend. Oh? Or did you think something would change now? Did you think we would _bond_ over our dear, dead Kings?” Fushimi laughed coldly and Yata couldn’t help but tense slightly. “You’re such an _idiot,_ Misaki. Don’t lump me in with the likes of you.” 

“I-I’m not—I just wanted to — ” Yata fumbled for the right words. “Dammit, Saruhiko, I just wanted to—to _talk_ to you, okay? You can’t tell me that all this doesn’t effect you. You look like shit.” 

“I don’t need to hear that from you.” Fushimi scratched irritably at his arms. “Maybe I should go hide myself in a dark bar, crying crystal tears of ultimate sadness like _some_ pathetic clansmen do. ‘Oh Mikoto-san, Mikoto-san, whatever will I do without you?’” He laughed again, shaking his head. “I guess it’s just as well Anna took the throne. Gave you a new master to wag your tail at.” 

“Don’t you dare say any kind of shit about Anna!” Yata burst out. Fushimi smiled widely, as if he’d been hoping for that reaction, and Yata quietly cursed his own temper. Hadn’t he decided that they were just going to talk? Yata took a deep breath and slowly unclenched his fists, staring down at his lap. Fushimi’s smile faded slowly, eyes darkening. “Look, Saru, I don’t wanna fight with you, okay? I just…I just wanted to ask you about what happened that day. At-at the bar, I mean.” 

“The bar?” Fushimi’s voice sounded genuinely confused and Yata looked up. 

“Yeah. You know, when we ran into each other by Bar Homra, when all those ninja guys were attacking.” Yata stared at Fushimi intently. Fushimi’s expression seemed strange, eyes averted, brow furrowed slightly, biting his lip. “Wait. You…you don’t remember?” 

“I’m leaving.” Fushimi stood up abruptly, walking quickly towards the door. “I don’t have any more time to waste talking with morons like you.” 

“Saru, wait a second!” Yata called after him, aware of the attention they were drawing. Yata groaned and hurriedly gathered the remains of their food with one hand, dumping it tray and all in the trash as he hurried to catch up to Fushimi. “Dammit, Saruhiko, will you just listen to me for a second?” 

The snow had started falling harder and there was already a fresh coat covering the ground. It took Yata only a moment of looking around before he spotted Fushimi a few feet ahead of him, head down against the wind, clutching the plastic bag tightly in white hands. 

“Hey, Saru!” Yata called out to him as he got close and Fushimi seemed to increase his pace. Yata swore and broke into a run, ignoring the indignant looks he we getting from passers-by as he shoved his way through the crowd on the sidewalk. He could see Fushimi’s back wavering in front of him and Yata reached out and grabbed Fushimi’s arm, pulling him backwards with all his might. He heard Fushimi swear as they both lost their balance and landed in a heap in the snow, Fushimi’s bag falling open on the sidewalk. There was the sound of something inside breaking and Yata felt a momentary flash of guilt. 

“S-sorry…” Yata started to apologize and trailed off. Fushimi had pulled himself into a sitting position but his shoulders were slumped and he was holding tightly to his bandaged arms, teeth clenched as if in pain. “Here, lemme help pick everything up—” Yata reached for the fallen bag and his hand brushed against Fushimi’s sleeve. 

“Don’t touch me!” Fushimi whirled, lightning fast, slapping Yata’s hand away with such force that Yata fell back again in surprise. Fushimi was breathing hard and his eyes were narrowed. 

“H-hey, what’s your problem, Saruhiko?” Yata said, affronted. “I’m just trying to--” 

“To _help_?” Fushimi sneered. He chuckled quietly as he stood on shaking legs, kicking scornfully at the fallen bag. “Is that it, _Misaki_? You just want to _help_ the poor miserable traitor who had to kill his own King?” Yata winced slightly and Fushimi’s smile widened. “Ah, that’s it, isn’t it? You’re really pathetic, Misaki, absolutely pathetic. Did you think I would be thankful for it, all this precious pity of yours?” 

“It’s not pity!” Yata jumped to his feet. “I’m—I’m _worried_ about you, okay? Dammit, Saruhiko…you _killed your King._ That has to be— that has to mess you up, right? I just wanted—” His words were suddenly cut off by Fushimi’s scornful laughter. 

“My _King_?” Fushimi repeated mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh, Misaki. I’m not like you. I don’t care about any of that crap. Kings, clansmen — it’s all just bodies in the end. You think I cared, when I impaled the Captain on my own sword? No. In fact, I’d say I _enjoyed_ it, almost. I’ve always wanted to see how a King bleeds. My only regret is I didn’t get to do it to Suoh Mikoto instead.” 

Anger flared in Yata’s heart and he forced it down, biting hard on his lower lip. 

“I…I don’t believe that.” Yata forced his gaze to remain steady. “There’s no way that’s how you really feel, Saruhiko.” 

“Is that so?” Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Because you know me so well, Misaki. Honestly, how do you survive with so few brain cells? You’ve never understood me at all Misaki, not even from the beginning.” 

“That’s…” Yata swallowed hard. “Okay, maybe—maybe you’re kinda right. The Saruhiko I knew…you’re not that guy. I get that. But still…I don’t believe that what you’re saying is what you really feel.” Yata regarded Fushimi steadily. “You’ve always been a liar, Saruhiko. If you really felt that way, then why do you look like your entire world just got pulled out from under you?” 

Fushimi’s eyes widened for a moment in surprise and Yata felt a momentary surge of hope that was crushed almost immediately as Fushimi’s face turned cold. 

“You don’t know _anything,_ Misaki,” Fushimi said harshly. “If you want to fight me, that’s fine. But if you’re going to keep saying such useless things, you can just get out of my sight.” 

“You look sick,” Yata pressed. “Seriously, Saru, have you even looked in a mirror lately? And—and you’re having memory problems too, right? You don’t remember what happened in front of the bar, do you?” 

“I don’t bother to remember unimportant things,” Fushimi said dismissively, looking away. 

“Bullshit,” Yata challenged. “You remember _everything,_ Saruhiko. You can’t feed me that line of crap and expect me to swallow it.” 

“Don’t act like you know me so well, Misaki,” Fushimi shot back. “I’m the one who _betrayed you,_ remember? Ah, I can still see the look on your face perfectly, those poor wide eyes, that shocked expression. It was _hilarious._ You never saw it coming, did you? Even when it was as clear as day to everyone else, you never even noticed. Even when it was obvious…” He trailed off, clutching at his arms. Yata stepped forward almost without thinking, unable to stop himself from feeling the surge of worry, reaching out with one hand as though to do…what? He didn’t know if he wanted to grab Fushimi and pull him close or push him away. Fushimi immediately shied back, arms held near to his sides and body language closed in and defensive, like a wounded animal. “Go _away_ , Misaki. If I wanted your pity I would ask for it. Don’t try and pretend we’re the same, you and I. I lost _nothing._ I’m not so pathetic that the death of one man would turn me into something weak enough to need help from a person like _you._ ” 

“Saru…” Yata trailed off, unable to reply, and his hand fell back against his side. There was a broken sort of ferociousness in Fushimi’s gaze that lulled him silent and Fushimi gave a quiet smirk, as though he’d expected it. Yata couldn’t help but feel a sudden spike of shame at that look. 

“Don’t bother me until you get tired of being pathetic, Misaki,” Fushimi said, turning to leave without even bothering to pick up his fallen things. There was something strange about his voice, strained, as if he was having trouble keeping his breath. “Replace that pity with killing intent, then come and find me. I’ll be happy to play with you then.” 

He stumbled off into the crowd and Yata could only watch him go, silent. As Fushimi disappeared from sight, Yata realized that he was shivering lightly even though he couldn’t feel the cold. 

“Dammit!” Yata slammed a fist into the wall, ignoring the sudden sharp pain in his knuckles and the stares he was getting from the crowd. “Dammit, Saruhiko…why…why can’t you just…” 

There was wetness on his cheeks from something besides falling snow and Yata stood there with his head down for a long time, cursing himself in silence. 

— 

Fushimi stumbled into the closest empty alleyway he could find, hands white as he clutched the edges of the nearest trashcan, stomach heaving as he threw up again. His entire body was shaking and Fushimi pushed himself up against the wall, lips curling as shame and disgust crawled up his spine. 

_Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic._ Fushimi gave a soft, bitter chuckle. _Look at you. Lower than Misaki. Even worse than all of Homra combined._

He felt like he was sweating but his hands were cold to the fingertips and his head was swimming. Fushimi scratched roughly at his arms, savoring the electric shock of pain that ran through his body. 

It was disgusting, really. To think that the death of one man could cause him to feel so frayed like this, unable to catch his breath or keep his feet at any given moment. 

_I’m not like the rest of you,_ Fushimi thought fiercely, digging his fingers into one of the scars beneath his bandages. _This is nothing to me. That person was_ nothing _to me. I have never had a King, not the way the rest of you have. I just followed him because I had nothing better to do, that’s all. Because it got me away from_ there, _and that was enough._

Munakata’s face flashed through his mind, smiling silently down on him, and Fushimi shuddered hard, falling down onto his knees. 

_I’m fine. I’m fine._ It was getting hard to breathe and his vision was going gray around the edges again — _red blood, blue coat, silver blade and the Sword of Damocles falling, and there was nothing he could do to stop what was coming_ — and Fushimi curled in tighter against himself, lowering his head as he tried to ride out the fresh wave of nausea sweeping over him. 

_Was all of this part of your plan? Did you see this far ahead, Captain?_ Fushimi smiled thinly. He’d always thought of that person as someone who saw farther ahead than any of them and yet he couldn’t completely bring himself to believe that this was the outcome that Munakata would have wanted. And even as the thought crossed his mind he felt disgusted at himself for it, that he would grasp to such a thin scrap of affection as if it meant anything. 

His head was pounding and Fushimi pulled on the torn edge of a bandage, unwinding it further. His arms were aching even more now and there was an insistent throbbing in his shoulder as if there was something he was forgetting there. 

_Forgetting?_ Right, Misaki had said something about his memory. Fushimi closed his eyes but couldn’t quite recall. Every time he tried to think back on that day the focus always narrowed laser-like on the park and blood and the sword, and he couldn’t remember anything else. But he felt the dull pain in the back of his mind, like the bite of a blade on his skin, and his chest ached. Fushimi pushed his back hard against the wall and struggled to his feet, swaying dangerously, still able to taste the bile in the back of his throat. 

_I have no King._ It was a desperate prayer as much as a thought, and Fushimi forced himself to stand straight. It was all right like this, wasn’t it? He would have no King — no more Kings, not anymore — and no clan, either. Scepter 4 had always been simply the place where he worked, where his skills were needed, nothing more. It had not been a place to belong, no family, not like Homra. It had only been a field wherein he could exist and make use of his own skills, be a necessary pawn in a game whose end he could never quite see. 

And now that there was an end, and what use was there for the pawn? 

Fushimi laughed quietly to himself as he pushed his legs forward. He’d been a fool to let himself get so attached in the first place. When before had the meeting of blade and flesh ever torn into him this much? Never. He had always been a knife in the dark, cutting everything away. This should be no different. None of this should mean anything more to him. 

_“When the time to make a decision comes, my sword will carry out heaven’s decree.”_

The old words echoed in his mind and Fushimi’s hand twitched for the sword he no longer carried. 

_Captain…_ His head hurt and he didn’t know why. There was a memory there — Munakata’s apology and then the sword, and the two of them sinking together in the snow as words blurred between them, and Fushimi could not recall the sound. Everything was irritating, the snow, the cold, Misaki, the Captain’s blood and the Captain’s body, sinking in his mind. Fushimi pushed it all away, deeper and deeper into the dark corners of his mind where the hidden things went and forced himself to breathe, forced himself to move. 

He limped out of the alley, keeping one hand on the wall for support and stumbled slightly as soon as he was out in the sun, blinking in the light. He took a few swaying steps and his hand slid against cool glass. Fushimi straightened slightly, turning to look at the store window that his hand had brushed against. 

There was a thin sheen of ice covering the outside and he could just make out his own reflection, pale and thin with bags under the eyes, skin stretched tight over bones and just as awful as Misaki had said he looked. Fushimi smirked slightly. The image in the window smiled back and he could just make out shadows of another face, one too like his own, another smile and echoing laughter in his mind, and even as part of him curled back in disgust the rest of him shook with his own choking laughter. 

There it was, plain as day, and he’d never quite seen it. He had always destroyed things, hadn’t he? Fushimi had already forgotten the old lesson, that the things he held closely would fall to pieces eventually. So this was inevitable after all, that he would break this thing with his own hands, and there was no need to feel such pain over it. What other need would Munakata have had for him anyway, if not to be the destroyer at the very end? 

Fushimi shook with laughter until he couldn’t breathe anymore and slid down onto his knees again in the snow, tearing at the bandages on his arms. 

— 

“That should be good, don’t you think? It would make a statement.” Akiyama looked over expectantly at Awashima, who sat back on the couch as she considered. 

“I suppose.” Awashima looked thoughtful as her eyes swept the group. All of the Scepter 4 Special Forces members sat in a ring around her couch, papers scattered across the floor between them as they went over her proposal. 

“No way, we have to do it the other way!” Doumyoji spoke up, holding up one of the papers in front him. He’d found a crayon somewhere and had drawn up what looked to be some sort of stick figure diagram. “This way is much cooler! Cooler is better, right?” 

“Is ‘cooler’ really a good thing when meeting with government officials?” Enomoto said hesitantly. 

“It’s _definitely_ a good thing! They can’t overlook us if we’re cool, right?” 

“A-ah, well, coolness aside, any small thing helps, doesn’t it?” Hidaka broke in. “We—we have to convince them that we can still do this, that Scepter 4 can still be here even if we don’t have a--” His mouth snapped shut with a quick apologetic look at Awashima. She tensed only momentarily and then smiled softly. 

“No, it’s all right.” Awashima straightened. “Very well. We will iron out the rest of the details and then dismiss for lunch. Is everyone agreed?” 

“Yes, ma’am!” The response was immediate, ingrained, and it almost felt like coming home, somehow. 

There was a sudden rush of cold air as the door banged open and Awashima got to her feet almost immediately. 

“Fushimi-kun!” He didn’t so much as stop at the sound of her voice, his head down as he made a beeline for his room. There was the sound of a slamming door. 

“That was…Fushimi-san?” A few of the others shifted and Hidaka and Akiyama in particular looked like they were about to stand up and go after him. Awashima motioned for them to remain seated. 

“I will handle it. The rest of you, continue working until I return, all right?” Her subordinates exchanged nervous looks but stayed where they were, and Awashima gave only a quick nod of acknowledgment before swiftly making her way towards Fushimi’s room. 

“Fushimi-kun, what has gotten into you?” She didn’t bother to knock, simply pushing the door open as she spoke — it _was_ Awashima’s apartment, after all, and he was clearly in no mood to let her in if she chose to act polite. 

A spiteful tongue click was her only answer. He was already hunched over the duffel bag in the corner, digging through it with the mindlessness of an animal. He straightened as she turned on the light, staring at her with a baleful glare. His sleeves had fallen back again and she could see that the bandages were in tatters, and there was blood running down his arms. 

“Fushimi-kun…what have you done?” Awashima took a step towards him and he immediately shied backwards. 

“That’s none of your business,” Fushimi said coldly, pulling his arms close. “I’m fine.” 

“You are certainly not ‘fine,’” Awashima said and Fushimi gave a harsh bark of laughter that made her flinch involuntarily. 

“Ah, and you care so much, Lieutenant?” Fushimi clicked his tongue again. “Really, it’s disgusting, all of you. It made you feel good, didn’t it Lieutenant Awashima? Being the one to take in the poor little traitor, cleaning his wounds? Made you feel warm and fuzzy inside? The Captain’s ghost must be so _proud_ of all that slavish devotion.” 

“Fushimi!” Awashima snapped angrily and Fushimi laughed again. 

“Did I hit a nerve?” He looked straight at her, head hanging loosely to one side, smile a gaping wound. “That’s it, isn’t it? All of _this…_ ” He nodded towards the door. “Just another illustration of your precious duty. Tell me, Lieutenant…are you just going to remain shackled to that man’s ghost forever?” 

Awashima’s mouth opened to say something, anything — to scold him, to refute his words — but nothing came out. 

“It’s actually a little pathetic, don’t you think?” Fushimi continued. “Really, Lieutenant…ah, you’re not even that anymore, though, are you? Scepter 4 is all gone now. Not that it matters anyway. And you looked so utterly devoted, pledging your sword to him. What were those words? ‘Captain, if the time should come…I will, with my own hands, do my duty to the end.’” His voice pitched high, mocking her. “That was it, right? And you couldn’t even manage that. Is all this your penance, then?” Fushimi ran a finger along one of the scars on his arms, drawing a thin line of blood as he went, and Awashima’s eyes followed the movement with a sense of almost fascinated horror. “Your final duty, and you failed. That was the point of this all along, right? You try to rebuild because it’s the only way to assuage your own guilt. You play the Captain’s role, pretending you can fix what you couldn’t stop from breaking. The perfect Heartless Woman. And all this…” He gazed around the room. “Your apology. Making a show of caring, going through the proper motions, pretending that you do this because you want to instead of just blindly following the orders you feel you’ve been given. It really makes me sick, you know. That look on your face whenever you talk to me, trying to be _him_ when everyone knows you’re not. It disgusts me more than I can say.” 

“That’s enough!” Awashima said sharply, and Fushimi’s smile seemed to only widen. 

“What’s wrong?” Fushimi asked coolly. “Haven’t I always been the problem child? It’s all right. I’ll let you hold my hand and bind my wounds again, if it lets you pretend you’re doing something of worth. I did _your_ duty, after all. That’s the only reason you’re doing this, isn’t it? Your pity, your _guilt._ Pretending to care, because it makes you feel better about your own failures. Did he order you to do this before he died? ‘Take care of my pet traitor, don’t let him off the leash.’ Is that it? I wonder, do you ever do anything for yourself?” 

“Fushimi…” Awashima’s hands clenched. Every word he spoke felt like another knife thrown straight at her and suddenly she wanted to cross the space between them and do anything to make him quiet, order him, shake him, _anything._ If it would only quiet those words, she would chase him out of the apartment all on her own. 

But Fushimi stood before her on shaking legs with blood running down his arms, smiling with empty eyes, and all of a sudden Awashima _understood._

This was what he wanted. He wanted her to hate him. He wanted her to kick him out. 

Awashima could never claim to understand the way Fushimi acted, not the way Munakata had. She had never understood how the Captain could let Fushimi say such insolent things, hurtful things, and take it all with a smile. But looking at him now it was as though a light had gone on somewhere and at last she could see it. Could see why Munakata would take in those poison words and counter with kindness, because to do otherwise would only give in to the self-destruction he was all but begging her to take part in. 

Awashima closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. She was not Munakata. She didn’t think she could smile at him, could pretend his words hadn’t drawn blood. But she couldn’t be the person Fushimi wanted her to be either, wouldn’t be that person. 

“Fushimi-kun.” She kept her tone measured and Fushimi’s smile dropped away, replaced by confusion. “I don’t have time for this today. I have things to attend to. If you are not up to assisting me, then you may remain in your room until you feel ready to join the rest of us. And go change your bandages or your injuries won’t heal properly.” 

“What?” All of Fushimi’s cold confidence had dropped away and he was staring at her in complete bafflement. There was something almost pleading in his eyes, begging her to rise to the bait he had so deliberately dangled in front of her, and it was enough to make Awashima almost feel bad for not being cruel to him. 

“You heard me. We will talk about this again later.” Awashima stood her ground. Her voice was still stern, commanding as she had always been with him, but she allowed an undertone of softness to it as well. Fushimi had always been something of a mystery to her, a person who she was never quite sure how to handle. But if she gave up on him that would be the end of it, and Awashima knew that neither the Captain nor she herself would ever be able to forgive her if she simply let things end, not after everything they’d been through. She was still the second in command of Scepter 4 and he was still one of her own. She would not abandon him now. 

Without another word Awashima turned and walked out of the room, trying to keep her face composed as she went back to join the others. 

Behind her she could hear the sound of something being thrown into a wall but Awashima didn’t let herself turn around. 

— 

Awashima awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of a door slamming. She blinked sleepily in the darkness, limbs feeling sore and heavy as she tried to clear the drowsiness from her mind. All of a sudden realization hit and she sat up abruptly. 

“Fushimi-kun?” Awashima got to her feet and threw on a robe as she walked swiftly towards his room. 

The door was open and the bedsheets were all in disarray, mingling with torn bandages on the floor. Fushimi’s duffel bag lay upside down in a corner, insides torn out and scattered everywhere, but Fushimi himself was gone.


	3. flesh and bone wrapped up in skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go after this. Angst and pain, etc.

He was cold. 

Fushimi was dimly aware of the sensation as he walked mindlessly through the darkened streets, hands shoved in his pockets, scarf pulled close against his face. 

He’d left because the room had suddenly felt too close and too hard to breathe in, but he hadn’t bothered to come to a decision on where he was going. He couldn’t go back to Scepter 4, not now, not when there was no guarantee of anything to go back to. He couldn’t — wouldn’t — go back to Homra either, not that place that was just as narrow, just as suffocating. And there was nowhere else, nowhere at all, no more small apartment for two that had been the only place that had ever, ever felt like home. 

Nowhere to go, no one to go to. Fushimi shuddered and reached up to scratch at one arm. The burn on his chest ached in reminder and he scratched at that too, pain running warm within his body. 

The moon hung in the sky like a sword, and all of a sudden Fushimi knew exactly where he was walking to. 

It was an easy thing, to duck under the police tape that had been set up by his own subordinates, to walk straight through the decimated park towards the small curved crater that lay at the center. Fushimi sat down in front of it, pulling his knees close to his chest, collapsing in on himself to keep warm. 

_Captain…_ He didn’t know what he was doing here, what he was expecting to happen. Misaki had only been kind, Awashima had refused to hate him when he’d tried so hard to be certain she would…it wasn’t something he could really understand. He’d destroyed another world — no, watched it be destroyed. Let it be destroyed. Another precious thing had slipped from his hands and he hadn’t even known how much he’d valued it until it hit the ground in pieces. 

It _hurt_ , and that was the worst part of it. He’d been so certain that it wouldn’t hurt this time, that he’d been sure to hold nothing dear, so that when the time came it would only be another empty thing that held no sway over him. But it _hurt_. The moment his sword had plunged into Munakata’s chest, it had hurt. 

_— the sky was gray and the ground was gray, and the only color in the world was the blue sword falling and the coat in front of him, red blood, silver sword, and what else was he supposed to do besides this, even if it was the last thing in the world that he wanted —_

_—And they sunk to the ground together as the Sword of Damocles disappeared, Munakata’s blood seeping into his coat, Fushimi’s sword still buried deep inside his King’s body, and Munakata’s hand touched his cheek gently._

_“Fushimi-kun.” He thought maybe the Captain might have smiled but his vision had gone blurry and he couldn't be sure. “Well done. You can let go of the sword now. You have done everything I asked of you.”_

_And then Munakata smiled again, Fushimi was sure of it this time, and there was a final exhale of warm breath on his cheek as the Blue King’s body grew limp in his arms, and the last bit of color in the world faded away—_

Fushimi choked on his own breath, pitching forward into the snow. He didn’t understand, didn’t understand at all, and his head was pounding so hard that he clutched at it as if he could shake the images from his mind. It was cold, so cold, and he didn’t understand. 

_“Well done.”_

He hadn’t been hated in the end and he hadn’t been pitied. He’d been praised. And for what? Doing only what he’d always been made to do. He’d destroyed his own world, and for that he’d been praised. Fushimi’s body spasmed, collapsing in upon himself as he clutched at his head and tried to keep from throwing up again. 

His skin felt cold, so cold, and Fushimi could barely breathe. The sky was gray and the moon was gray, everything was gray, and he couldn’t find his breath. 

Somewhere deep inside he felt something warm and instinctively, almost unthinkingly, he curled around it. There was a color there, maybe red, maybe blue, he couldn’t tell anymore, but it was warm, and it had been so long since he’d felt properly warm. 

Fushimi closed his eyes wearily, still curled up in a heap in the snow, and let the color keep him warm. 

— 

Yata felt tired and heavy as he walked towards the bar. 

_I shouldn’t have let him go._ He kicked at a random snow drift, sighing. _I should’ve…gone after him, or something._

He knew it was no use beating himself up over it but it still bothered him. Even if he and Fushimi weren’t friends anymore, even if they couldn’t be friends, he still couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know why. More and more he was beginning to feel like there was something he’d been missing about all this, about Fushimi and betrayal and never leaving him alone, and then saving his life at the end of it all. If they could just talk properly Yata felt like maybe he could finally understand but it seemed like they couldn’t ever quite manage that. 

_Don’t think about it,_ Yata told himself fiercely, clenching a fist. _Saru’s made his choice, right? It’s not my job to look after him anymore._

It was so easy to tell himself that when Fushimi was in front of him, mocking him with every weakness he’d ever had, and so hard to convince himself of the truth of it in the aftermath. Yata smiled ruefully and shook his head slightly to clear it as he pushed open the door to bar Homra. 

Kusanagi looked up as he stepped in. Yata started to greet him and was quieted with a wave as Kusanagi’s attention turned back to the phone in his hand. 

“Ah, actually, I’ve got the perfect person for it. I’ll get it taken care of.” Kusanagi motioned for Yata to sit as he stepped back around the bar. “Right. I’ll see you later, then.” He turned off the phone and finally turned to face Yata. “Good timing, Yata-chan. I have a mission for you.” 

“A mission?” Yata sat up a little straighter. 

“Mmm.” Kusanagi’s face turned serious and Yata felt a sudden twinge of nervousness. “That was Seri-chan. Seems Fushimi’s been missin’ since last night.” 

“What?” Yata was immediately on his feet. He quickly checked himself, crossing his arms and looking away from Kusanagi. “I-I mean, who cares if that guy’s disappeared? He’s just a stupid traitor.” 

“Is that so?” Kusanagi’s tone was mild but he was eyeing Yata knowingly and Yata felt his stomach twist a little. 

“I mean…how would I know where he is anyway?” Yata said quietly. “Saru’s…we’re not really friends anymore, you know. I…I guess I don’t really know anything about him.” 

“Misaki knows.” He looked up at the sound of Anna’s voice. She was walking down the stairs, staring at him with a vaguely troubled look. “Where Saruhiko is. Misaki already knows.” 

“I-I really don’t, though--” Yata started to protest. Anna simply looked at him and suddenly he remembered the week before, when he’d run across Fushimi in the park. He raised his head to meet Anna’s gaze and she nodded silently. Yata clenched his fist for a moment, considering, and then he turned and walked towards the door. 

“Yata-chan?” Kusanagi’s concerned voice echoed from behind him. 

“I…” Yata straightened and pulled open the door. “I’m going to go find Saru!” 

Kusanagi smiled at him and gestured from him to go. Yata nodded in reply and ran out the door, letting the wind slam it shut behind him. 

_Saruhiko…_ Yata set off at a run. The wind bit at his skin but he kept moving, not caring about the strange looks he was getting from other people on the street as he dashed by, moving with single-minded purpose towards the only place he could think of where Fushimi would have gone. 

The park came quickly into view and Yata jumped over the police tape surrounding it. It felt strangely quiet and he slowed his pace slightly, the snow crunching under his feet and the blowing of the wind the only sounds. Yata shivered slightly. He’d noticed it when he was here before and the feeling was even stronger now. It felt…. _eerie,_ somehow, being here, as if the even the air and sky knew that this place had been a tomb of Kings. 

As the center of the park came into view Yata’s eyes immediately fell upon the figure he hadn’t quite convinced himself he would find there. Yata couldn’t deny the sudden rush of relief that flooded through him and he took only a moment to steady himself before stepping out from behind the trees. 

Fushimi was in a sitting position, knees close to his chest, head down. His skin looked somehow paler than usual and Yata felt a brief spike of panic before he noticed the slight glow of color surrounding Fushimi’s body. Fushimi himself didn’t even seem to realize that he was emitting power and his eyes were closed. He didn’t look up as Yata came forward, didn’t even move. Yata stared at him awkwardly for a long moment, not sure what he should say, before finally simply plopping down into the snow next to him. 

“Hey,” Yata said quietly. Seeing Fushimi sitting there in the snow all he could think of was Fushimi hiding under the covers of his bed, Fushimi sitting hunched on a bench in the park, Fushimi alone at his school desk, Fushimi huddled in the corner of the bar. Always alone, always pushing away, the walls around him so thick he wouldn’t lower them even for Yata. 

Fushimi shifted a little, as if considering his answer before he finally turned his head to look at Yata. His eyes were flat and cold and it made Yata shudder slightly. 

“Go _away.”_ Fushimi’s voice was heavy and final, a voice that expected to be obeyed, but Yata had long grown out of taking Fushimi’s orders. 

“Not until you go inside and get a damn coat on,” Yata said. He could see torn bandages peeking out from under the sleeves of Fushimi’s sweater. “That Lieutenant lady of yours is worried about you, you know.” 

“So she sent my babysitter to come pick me up?” Fushimi laughed, but there was no humor in it. 

_“Someone_ needs to take care of you,” Yata replied sharply. 

“No,” Fushimi said curtly, fingers clenching slightly. “I don’t _need_ anyone, Misaki. I’m not as pathetic as you.” 

“It’s not pathetic!” Yata said. “Come on, Saru. Look at yourself. You need help.” 

“Help?” Fushimi’s lip curled in disgust as he staggered to his feet. “From _you?_ That _is_ amusing, Misaki. What kind of _help_ could you possibly give me? You, who doesn’t understand anything at all, who never has?” 

“Because you won’t fucking _tell_ me!” Yata jumped up to face him. “C’mon, Saru. You’ve always been like this. How the fuck is anyone supposed to understand you if you won’t ever say anything?” 

“What makes you think I care about that at all?” Fushimi hissed, eyes narrowing in anger. “It’s fine if none of you understand. I never asked for anyone to understand me. I never asked for anyone to save me. I don’t need any of you, not you or Suoh Mikoto or the Captain.” 

“Then what are you even doing here, huh?” Yata challenged. “Don’t tell me you wanted to be out here by yourself. You hate cold, Saru.” 

“I only wanted to see it,” Fushimi said dismissively, turning away from Yata to look at the crater beside them. His gaze was suddenly far away and Yata felt his heart clench. “To see…what was left behind. That’s all.” 

“It…it hurts, right?” Yata said slowly. Fushimi didn’t answer him, still staring at the crater. “Come on, Saruhiko. He was your King. It _matters_ to you, what happened here. Don’t tell me it doesn’t. I’m—I’m not that stupid.” 

Fushimi stood there quietly, not looking at him, and for a brief moment Yata thought maybe he had gotten through to Fushimi until the silence was broken by a sharp bark of laughter. 

“Aren’t you?” There was a smile stretching across Fushimi’s face and it made a chill run up Yata’s spine. “An idiot like you, saying he’s not that stupid? That _is_ amusing, Misaki. You say that and yet you still don’t see it, as always. We’re not the same. Nothing that happened here mattered to me.” 

“You always say that kind of crap,” Yata said. “Like you don’t care, like it doesn’t mean anything. You’re not even fooling _yourself,_ Saruhiko. You’re a damn mess. You’ve been a mess every time I’ve seen you since the day your King died.” Yata bit his lip. “You…you can tell me the truth, Saru. You _never_ tell me the truth and then you act like I’m an idiot because I can’t understand. Okay, you’re right, maybe I am. So that’s why you have to _tell_ me. I don’t get you at all and I never will if you won’t fucking _talk_ to me.” 

“Do you even hear how _pathetic_ you sound right now?” Fushimi drawled, stretching out the words as if Yata was suddenly boring him. “All you want to do is talk. Didn’t I tell you before? If you’re only going to pity me you can go running back to Homra with your tail between your legs. If you don’t intend to hate me properly then get out of my sight. I don’t have a need for any more of this worthless, misplaced _affection._ You, the Lieutenant, everyone. I’m utterly sick of it all. Unless you intend to fight me, you can just leave.” 

“I’m not gonna fight with you,” Yata said, doing his best to keep his temper in check. “I-I didn’t come all the way out here just to do that.” 

“Why not?” Fushimi’s voice pitched high, like a child demanding to know why he couldn’t have ice cream for breakfast. “This is exactly why I say you’re pathetic, Misaki. We’re enemies, remember? I betrayed you. You don’t make _friends_ with the person who betrayed you.” 

“Yeah, you say that a lot,” Yata said. “And maybe I thought the same thing too, before. That we couldn’t be friends anymore, that maybe we never really we and you were just—” He stopped for a moment as the memory of old pain surfaced and then forced himself to swallow it back down, to move past it. “But—but still…I don’t think you’re my enemy, Saruhiko. I…” He trailed off again, biting his lip. “I don’t think I ever thought that, not really. I mean, you’re acting like an asshole and you won’t tell me anything and yeah, I was mad when you left — I’m _still_ mad — but if you’d just tell me why then I can understand. You’re still my best friend, Saruhiko. Even after all the crap you’ve pulled, I still think you’re my best friend.” 

Fushimi’s cool expression vanished and for just a moment he looked surprised, almost vulnerable, and then his eyes narrowed and he clicked his tongue. 

“Then you really are the biggest idiot, aren’t you Misaki?” Fushimi laughed scornfully. “Still your best friend? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just sad, the way you cling to old words. Don’t you feel ashamed of yourself, acting so weak? We’re not in middle school anymore. Friendship is just a game for children. I don’t want it. I don’t need it.” 

“Saru…” Yata took a step towards him and Fushimi fell back, arms wrapping around himself again. He seemed to be trembling and Yata couldn’t tell if it was from the cold air surrounding them or the bitter laughter spilling from his mouth. 

“It’s so amusing to hear you say it, _Misaki._ ” There was the tuneless quality to his voice again, thick with something Yata couldn’t quite name that nonetheless made his whole body seize up slightly. “You talk to me like that and smile at me, you pretend that you _care_ so much and it’s absolutely ridiculous. As if I’d come crawling for that barest scrap of your worthless affection, as if I should be _thankful_ for it. You’re just the same as all the rest — no, worse, really, because even after all this time you still won’t see it. I don’t need this from any of you. I don’t need your worry. Don’t smile at me, don’t apologize to me, don’t _praise_ me, any of you. Hatred is fine. I don’t want such half-hearted words from people who only intend to leave in the end.” 

“What the hell are you talking--” The sound of steel cutting through the air was the only warning Yata had and he dived to the side just in time to avoid the knife that had come flying straight at his chest. He landed awkwardly in the snow and his head snapped up as Fushimi began to laugh again. 

“You see?” Fushimi opened his arms wide, knives between his fingers, smile crooked and feral. The wind bit at the the sleeves of his sweater and Yata could see the long scratches down his arms, red streaks of blood marking where the fingers had dug in. “So, what will you do now, Misaki? Are you going to tell me again, how much you care about me? About how I’m your dear _comrade,_ like all the other pathetic losers you show that smile to?” 

“I’m not here to fight you, Saru,” Yata said warningly, all his instincts suddenly tense and on alert. 

“Then _leave._ ” Fushimi’s hands moved faster than Yata could see and he had to scramble to avoid the knives that came flying at him. Fushimi laughed again, the sound high-pitched and not quite sane, not even giving Yata a moment to recover as he dived in for another attack. Yata raised an arm to defend, letting out some of his power, red and blue clashing together as he deflected Fushimi’s attack. Fushimi landed easily on his feet, staring at Yata with wild eyes. “Well, _Misaki_? Still want to talk? Still want to tell me how much you _care_?” 

“Dammit, Saru, can’t you just listen to me for once?” Yata growled, frustrated. “We don’t need to do this.” 

“Of course we do.” Fushimi’s smile spread like a stain across his face. “This is the way we always do things. If you’re too weak to keep up with me them you shouldn’t even have bothered coming here in the first place.” 

Despite Fushimi’s words, Yata could see that his hands were trembling where they held the knives. Fushimi’s face looked even paler than usual and the light in his eyes was almost feverish. 

“Saruhiko--” Yata tried again and didn’t even manage to get another word out before Fushimi ran at him again. 

“Too slow, Misaki!” Fushimi’s laugh rose with the howling wind and one of his knives sliced Yata’s face, drawing blood. Yata fell back, instinctively sending off a wave of red power. Fushimi didn’t even seem to feel it, twisting his body to aim at Yata again through the flames and Yata once more found himself forced to dodge, diving to the ground and rolling to one side as he sent of another blast of red to push Fushimi away. As the blow connected Yata heard Fushimi give a grunt of pain and he swore quietly as he scrambled back to his feet. 

Fushimi was still standing but he was swaying dangerously, his knuckles white where he clutched the knives. His clothes were clearly singed, the ends of his sleeves burned away and the shoulders gone almost black and unraveling. His laughter had faded away into a choking cough and Yata felt a spike of worry. 

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Yata took a step towards him. Fushimi suddenly raised his head, wide feral grin still on his face, and it was only by pure instinct that Yata managed to avoid the lightning-fast strike aimed at him. Yata grabbed for Fushimi’s arm, intending to stop this once and for all, and Fushimi immediately pulled back. Blue and red powers flared and Yata felt his legs slipping out from under him as the two of them overbalanced and tumbled into the shallow crater behind them. 

Yata landed flat on his back and lay there for a moment, winded, before carefully sitting up with a wince. He quickly looked around and after a moment finally saw Fushimi, sprawled on his stomach and unmoving a few feet away. 

“Saruhiko!” Yata immediately got to his feet and ran towards Fushimi. As he got close Fushimi stirred, propping himself up on shaking arms. His charred clothes had torn in the fall and as he sat up Yata could see a smooth expanse of white shoulder marred by a single long red scar. Yata’s eyes widened and unthinkingly he reached for Fushimi’s hand. 

“Don’t touch me!” There was a flash of pain and Yata pulled his hand back with a curse as one of Fushimi’s knives sliced a thin line on his palm. Fushimi’s shoulders trembled as he stood, eyes on fire, arms wrapped around his torso as if injured. “Don’t touch me, don’t look at me, don’t _help_ me.” His voice was manic and gasping as he stumbled backwards. “Do you think I want it, Misaki, your pity, your _affection_? You’re always the same, all of you, all thinking you know what I want, you know how to _help_ me. You and the Captain both, always trying to touch me with those filthy hands and looking down at me with those eyes. I don’t need it. I don’t need any of it. All of you are just going to throw me away in the end, so I don’t need anything from you.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Yata said, rubbing at the cut on his hand. Fushimi was still breathing hard, fingers clenching mechanically, and somehow Yata felt as though there was something he’d always been unable to see that was finally beginning to make itself known. “No one…no one’s _abandoning_ you, Saru! I never--” 

“Of course you did.” Fushimi’s head was lowered and Yata couldn’t make out his expression. “First you, now him. All of you, again and again. That’s why it’s always better if I break it myself. I should have done that from the beginning. It was all going to fall apart anyway, so it’s just as well I do it myself. I don’t need you to look at me kindly, I don’t need you to—I don’t need you to _praise_ me, not like you care.” Fushimi was looking at him now but Yata had the sudden unmistakable impression that Fushimi wasn’t actually talking to _him_ at all. “Don’t act that way towards me, don’t offer me such cheap affection, such cheap words, if all you’re going to do in the end is break apart too.” 

“That’s—that’s not true, Saru!” Yata said forcefully. “Stuff doesn’t just…fall apart like that. I know it hurts right now, okay? I know how it feels, when someone important to you is gone and you…and you find yourself feeling like maybe you didn’t understand that person at all, and maybe if you had there’d be a way for them to still be here. But you can’t just close yourself off because the world changed. Your King--” 

“My King?” Fushimi laughed scornfully. “You keep saying that, all of you. ‘My King,’ ‘my King.’ I’m not like you Misaki. I never needed a master to serve. That person was never…was never my…” Fushimi trailed off. His body was shaking as though being blown by the wind, and Yata risked taking a step closer. 

“You always lie, Saru,” Yata said quietly. “It’s all right, you know? You can care about him. I know it feels like if you do it’ll hurt forever, but…but it’s really not like that. Mikoto-san—” 

“Mikoto-san?” Fushimi snorted, voice thick with disdain. “That’s what it always comes back to for you, isn’t it Misaki? Always about your precious Mikoto-san.” 

“That’s not what I was talking about!” Yata said. “I just—I know what it’s like to lose someone, to have it hurt so much you think nothing’s ever gonna be the same. And maybe it’s not, maybe it’s changed, but that doesn’t mean it’s always a bad thing either. Your world got destroyed, I get that. You have to start building a new one or you’ll never be able to get past this.” 

“You don’t understand anything,” Fushimi hissed. “Always, always. You always _act_ like you know everything about me when you don’t know anything, when you’ve never understood a thing. Stop pretending you know anything about me, about what I’m feeling. I don’t need to rebuild anything, not when it just gets torn away again. I’m a _weapon_ , Misaki. I don’t build things. The only thing that interests me in this world is blood and flesh.” 

The moment the words came out of his mouth all of Yata’s instincts suddenly tensed and he just barely managed to avoid Fushimi’s next attack. Two knives flashed by him, slicing into his shirt, and Yata kicked out on reflex. He felt his foot hit flesh and almost immediately pulled back, trying to rein in his power. Fushimi grunted in pain but his stance remained taut, obviously prepared to continue fighting. 

“Dammit Saru!” Yata raised an arm and sent a wall of flames forward to block Fushimi’s next attack. One knife went flying by his face and Yata just barely avoided it, swinging his leg around to send out another burst of power as Fushimi darted by him. “Would you just stop fighting and _listen_ to me?!” 

“No more talking, _Misaki!_ ” Fushimi’s laughter rose above the roar of wind and power swirling around them, another knife in his hands as he attacked. Yata cursed under his breath and ducked under the blow, kicking one of Fushimi’s legs as he brought a fist down on Fushimi’s wrist, dislodging the knife. Fushimi aimed at him with the other hand and Yata brought up another fist to block as he swept Fushimi’s legs out form under him. Fushimi fell back onto the ground, back arching slightly in obvious pain as he landed hard with Yata kneeling on top of him, grabbing him by the wrists and pinning him down bodily. They were both breathing heavily from the cold and exertion and the wind made Yata’s eyes sting. 

“Go on.” Fushimi’s smile was wide, too wide, eyes completely empty, waiting for the next blow. He laughed deep in his throat and angled his head back into the snow, baring his neck to Yata like an offering. “ _Break me_ , Misaki.” 

Shock and revulsion pulsed through Yata like lighting and he jumped back, stumbling away. Fushimi slowly got back to his feet, eyes cold and almost… _disappointed,_ somehow, and Yata’s heart clenched. 

“Saruhiko…” Yata swallowed. “We’re not gonna do this, Saru. I’m not going to fight you.” 

“As always, you’re really too weak to do anything at all, aren’t you, Misaki?” Fushimi sighed heavily, as if Yata was a child who had just told his first lie, and two more knives slipped into his hands. “You’re just going to break in the end too.” 

Blue power began to swirl around him and Yata raised his arms, prepared to defend. 

_“Break me, Misaki.”_

_No._ There was a sudden calm that seemed to descend over him and Yata took a steadying breath, letting his power dwindle down to nothing as Fushimi ran towards him with weapons drawn. _No. I’m not letting that happen. Not this time._

Fushimi moved to attack and Yata stood there with his arms spread wide, and let him come. 

Yata kept his gaze steady as Fushimi drew closer and closer, and as their eyes met Yata could see the warring emotions reflected in Fushimi’s stare for just a moment, a flash of confusion as Fushimi realized that Yata had no intention of moving, followed by a sudden sharp glint of terror and utter _despair--_

—and then there was a sudden sharp pain in Yata’s side as the blades met flesh and he fell backwards, for a moment only able to register the shock of pain. And then it was gone, leaving behind only a dull sting and Fushimi stumbled out of view. Looking down Yata could see that he had been cut cleanly on one side and even as he pressed a hand to it and felt the blood there he was aware that the cut wasn’t anywhere near as deep as he’d expected, as it should have been. Fushimi had been aiming for his heart and had turned his blades aside the moment he’d realized that Yata wasn’t going to move. 

“Saruhiko…” Yata pulled himself to his feet with a grunt of pain, one hand still clutching his bloody side. He cast his gaze around the crater and in moments he spotted Fushimi, crumpled on his hands and knees in the snow, body shuddering with dry heaves and nothing coming out but saliva and choked gasps. Yata crossed the space between them in a flash, crouching beside Fushimi and rubbing slow circles on his back. “H-hey, calm down. It’s all right, Saru, okay? I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. I’m all right.” 

Fushimi didn’t answer, still gasping for air. He was staring downward fixedly at his hands and almost didn’t seem to realize that Yata was there. Helplessly Yata threw his arms around him and held him close. 

“C’mon, Saru,” Yata said softly, pressing Fushimi’s head into his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m all right.” 

“My King...” The words were half-choked but Yata could hear them clearly. “My King…is...” 

“It’s all right, Saruhiko,” Yata murmured into Fushimi’s ear as Fushimi rocked restlessly back and forth, and Yata’s shoulder was wet. “Okay? It wasn’t your fault. You only did what he wanted you to, you know? So it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” 

Yata pulled Fushimi closer, and they lay there together in the snow as Fushimi sobbed into his shoulder.


	4. I want the storm inside you awoken now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teeny bit of IzuSeri in this chapter, just because. Also Fushimi spends like half the chapter naked, nothing remotely sexual happens. Sorry about that.

Awashima kept her posture straight as she thumbed through the pages of her proposal one more time. Behind her most of the Special Forces members were leaning against the walls, looking anxious, and Hidaka in particular was pacing restlessly. Awashima almost wanted to tell him to be still, but the part of her that couldn’t help but understand his feelings kept her quiet. They were standing in the small antechamber leading to one of the main meeting halls, waiting to be called upon to present the case for the full reinstatement of Scepter 4. 

“My, a pretty lady shouldn’t look so serious.” A calm voice made her look up. 

“Izumo!” Awashima stepped forward to meet him. “I didn’t expect you to come.” 

“I thought I’d accompany Anna,” Kusanagi said. He held up his phone. “Just got a message from Yata-chan. He found Fushimi.” 

“Is he all right?” Awashima tensed slightly. 

“Yata-chan’s takin’ care of ‘im for now,” Kusanagi said. “I think they’ll manage.” 

“Yes, I suppose.” Awashima didn’t look quite convinced but she nodded anyway. She looked back down at the pages in her hands, nervously sifting through them one more time. “I had hoped he’d be able to accompany us here as well…but as long as he’s being taken care of.” 

“And who’s takin’ care of you?” Kusanagi asked mildly, lighting a cigarette. Awashima gave him a rueful smile. 

“Smoking is prohibited here, you realize.” Kusanagi chuckled quietly and Awashima sighed. “I am…managing, as well.” 

“Kings can certainly be a pain sometimes,” Kusanagi said, expression unreadable. “Leavin’ things behind for others to take care of.” 

“And yet we do it all the same,” Awashima said. “I suppose you understand that as well as I do.” 

“Well, I’ve got a new King to take care of right now,” Kusanagi replied, but the forced casualness of his tone couldn’t completely cover the weight lying beneath. “It’s not always an easy thing, though. Takin’ care of what’s been left behind for you.” 

“Indeed.” Awashima looked thoughtful for a moment and then gave a quiet smile. “Clansmen also have their own will, though.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Something Fushimi-kun said once.” Awashima ran a hand through her papers again. “Though I doubt he meant it so kindly. But still…I have been telling myself ever since, that this is what the Captain would want. When I spoke with Fushimi-kun yesterday he asked me if I ever did anything for myself. I didn’t have an answer.” 

“And now?” Kusanagi took a long drag of his cigarette. 

“Now I believe that this is my own will,” Awashima said, looking around at the remaining Blue clansmen gathered behind her. “This wasn’t only the Captain’s Scepter 4. Restoring that may have been the Captain’s wish, but it is mine as well. _Ours_ , as well.” 

There was a long silence and then Kusanagi took hold of her hand and kissed it. 

“W-what?” Awashima pulled back, surprised, and Kusanagi laughed. 

“I guess that’s a good enough answer then.” Kusanagi stepped back as Awashima shot him a slightly fond glare. “Well, it’s about time I started headin’ inside to join my King. Good luck, Seri-chan.” 

Awashima watched him walk away for a moment before turning back to her clan. 

“Everyone.” Her voice carried as well as it always had and even Hidaka stopped pacing to stare at her. “We will be summoned any moment. Please be prepared.” 

“Yes, ma’am!” The response was immediate, full of nothing but absolute conviction, and Awashima felt a sudden burst of confidence. 

“The assembly is ready for you now.” The door behind them opened and a clerk peered out at them. Awashima turned to face him and nodded. 

“Everyone, forward.” Awashima didn’t bother to look and see if her order was being followed as she strode past the clerk and into the wide meeting hall. 

The meeting hall was about half-full, with several men she recognized as high-ranking government officials sitting behind long tables directly facing her. On the far right she could see Kusanagi settling himself into a chair next to the Red King, who was staring at Awashima with a steady, searching gaze. On the other side of the room sat the Silver King, watching her with an unreadable look on his face. His two clansmen sat on either side of him. As Awashima walked up to the podium in the center of the room the girl Strain waved brightly at her and Awashima couldn’t help but smile back in response. 

“Is this going to take long?” One of the government officials near the front of the room grumbled quietly as the rest of Scepter 4 filed into the room. “I have another meeting to attend in twenty minutes.” 

Awashima fixed him with her best second-in-command glare and he stiffened, wilting slightly under her gaze. Awashima placed her papers on the podium and raised her voice. 

“Men, ready!” 

Behind her there was the sound of drawing swords and the officials in front of her looked taken aback. 

“Akiyama, draw!” 

“Benzai, draw!” 

“Kamo, draw!” 

The call went down the line and Awashima held her gaze steady until the last member of the line, Hidaka, had drawn his sword. 

“Awashima, draw!” Awashima pulled out her sword and held it in front of her for a long moment. 

This was her resolve. She knew that they were scattered now, fragmented. She was painfully aware that two important members of their company were missing, one never to the return and the other’s status unknown. Scepter 4 would never be what it was again, but that was fine. She was the second in command. She would take what was left of her clan and bind it back together, not only in memory of her King but for herself as well. 

Awashima laid her sword on the podium and lifted her papers, the rest of her clan still standing ready and strong behind her. 

“My name is Awashima Seri. I would now like to make my proposal in regards to the continuing status of Scepter 4.” 

— 

Fushimi stood dumbly against the bathroom wall, not sure what to do. 

After the fight in the park he had been all but dragged to Yata’s apartment. Fushimi had wanted to resist but he’d felt utterly worn out and exhausted, unable to find the strength to pull away from Yata’s gentle hand on his wrist. Yata had led him inside and into the bathroom, filling the tub and stating that Fushimi was a mess and needed to get cleaned off. Yata had instructed him to climb in the bath and then ducked out of the room to treat his own wounds, leaving Fushimi standing alone by the bathroom wall feeling foolish. 

_Stupid._ Fushimi clenched a fist. Now that the moment was past he felt weak and irritated. To break down in front of _Misaki_ of all people. It was mortifying. He felt disgusted from the very bottom of his being. Even standing here like this, in Yata’s bathroom being treated like a child, made his hackles rise. 

Yata had just left him here, trusting him to stay put and do what he was told, as if every barrier Fushimi had worked so hard to build between them had gone crashing down the moment Yata had thrown his arms around Fushimi in the park. As if it was so simple, as if clinging to each other in a moment of weakness was enough to fix everything Fushimi had so deliberately broken. 

Fushimi scratched at his arms distractedly. The snow had seeped into his clothes and he felt wet and cold, but he refused to get undressed and climb into the bathtub like he’d been told. He felt oddly exposed despite that — for the first time in a long while he was almost completely unarmed, the majority of his throwing knives having been spent in the park. He’d spotted Yata picking some of them up as they’d started to leave but whatever Yata had done with them he hadn’t given them back to Fushimi. Even the close combat knives were in short supply, as he’d dropped one of them in the snow after…after Yata…. 

The image flashed in his mind again, Yata with arms spread wide and then the red melted to blue melted to gray and Munakata was there again in the snow, Sword of Damocles crumbling to pieces above him and Fushimi sagged against the wall as his stomach churned. Fushimi bit his lip, trying to force the nausea back. Bad enough he’d cried in front of Yata, the last thing he needed was to be caught throwing up what little was in his stomach for no good reason at all. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, trying to breathe deep and force his body to stop shaking. 

_Pathetic. Completely pathetic._ He could feel the shame curling in the pit of his stomach and there was a ghost of laughter in the back of his mind, mocking him with his own weakness. Fushimi forced himself away from the wall and staggered towards the door. He suddenly had to get away from there, away from Yata and everything and everyone — where he intended to go, he had no idea. He only wanted to go away and be left alone. 

Fushimi reached for the doorknob at the exact same moment that the door was pulled open from the other side and he found himself face to face with Yata. Yata looked momentarily surprised and then he gave Fushimi a look of exasperation tinged with just enough fondness that it set Fushimi’s teeth on edge. 

“I told you to get cleaned up, you know,” Yata said. 

“I don’t take orders from you,” Fushimi replied back, but he couldn’t quite manage to keep the acid in his tone and his voice sounded flat and petulant in his own ears. Yata reached out and grabbed his arm, steering him back towards the bathtub, and Fushimi couldn’t quite find the energy to pull away. 

“Come on, Saru,” Yata said. “You can’t act like this forever. You’ve gotta let someone help you sometime.” 

“And that someone is you?” Fushimi shot back, hunching his shoulders as he reached up to grab his arms. Yata pressed one hand against his own, pushing his arms back down to his sides. 

“Just get in the fucking tub already, monkey,” Yata said. “We’re not going through this a second time. You’re a mess. Kusanagi-san and that lieutenant of yours sent me to take care of you, so that’s what I’m going to do.” 

“Hmmph.” Fushimi gave a bitter chuckle. “I see. An order from Homra, right? ‘Keep an eye on the traitor.’ You’re so predictable, Misaki.” 

“That’s not why I’m doing this!” Yata said, exasperated. “Now, are you going to take off your clothes or do I have to do it for you?” 

Fushimi stared at him in surprise for a moment and then turned away, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater. 

“I can take care of myself,” Fushimi said at last, because he felt like he had to say something. 

“Sure you can, monkey,” Yata scoffed. “We both know that’s never been true.” 

Fushimi glared at him but Yata’s gaze didn’t waver. Fushimi huffed quietly but pulled his sweater off anyway. Somehow he felt strangely exposed to be doing such a thing, even though he and Yata had taken baths together many times before in the past to save water. The angry red scratches on his arms seemed to stand out like a beacon on his pale skin and he stared fixedly at them as he removed his few remaining knives and began to unbuckle his pants. Yata handed him a towel without a word and Fushimi had to turn his back as he finished getting undressed. He wrapped the towel around his waist and reluctantly lowered himself into the water. 

The warm water felt prickly against his skin and the cuts on his arms suddenly started to sting. Fushimi bit back a hiss of pain, arms held stiffly down against his sides. 

“Here, let me see them.” Yata was there suddenly at his side, leaning over the edge of the tub, and Fushimi noticed the bandages that Yata had apparently brought in with him. Fushimi immediately pulled his arms away. 

“I don’t need you to be my nursemaid,” Fushimi muttered. He felt a hand press against his shoulder and he jerked back, surprised. Yata was staring at him with a grim and strangely sad look on his face, and Fushimi followed his gaze to the thin red scar on his shoulder. 

“You still don’t remember how you got that, huh?” Yata said quietly. Fushimi didn’t reply, eyes averted as he pulled his knees up close against his body as if to close himself off against Yata’s touch. There was something hovering on the edge of his mind — chasing after one of the Green King’s clansmen, a flash of steel, Yata’s hair and Yata’s back and a sharp sting of pain — but he couldn’t quite grasp it and the feeling of Yata’s gaze on him made him feel irritated and on edge. “Listen, Saru…you might not remember it but I do. You _saved_ me, okay? One of the Greens was about to cut me and you got between us.” 

“Tch. An accident,” Fushimi brushed it off and Yata’s hand slammed down on the edge of the tub. 

“Don’t give me that crap!” Yata paused, clearly taking a moment to try and rein in his temper and Fushimi simply couldn’t understand it, why Yata was trying so hard to stay calm and not fighting like he was supposed to, not hating Fushimi like he was supposed to. “I don’t believe that. I know you, Saru. You wouldn’t be between me and a blade unless you meant to be there.” 

“You don’t know anything about me,” Fushimi said coldly. 

“Yeah, you keep saying that.” Yata ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I don’t, okay? I don’t know everything about what the hell is going on in your damn mind all the time, that you keep acting like this and won’t ever tell me what’s going on. But I know some stuff about you, Saru, and I definitely know this: you saved me. You can tell me as many excuses as you want. I know you saved me and you’re not gonna convince me otherwise. So—so if you were willing to get hurt just to help me, why can’t you just freakin’ _talk_ to me for once?” 

Fushimi didn’t reply, staring down at the water. 

“Come on, Saruhiko.” Yata’s voice was almost pleading. “Just talk to me for once. If I don’t like what you have to say, I’ll leave you alone, okay? Just talk to me.” 

Fushimi shook his head, unable to reply. 

_“Saru.”_

“Shut up.” Fushimi forced the words out. “You’re a moron, Misaki. I’m tired of listening to you. I don’t have to tell you anything.” 

“You have to do _something,_ Saruhiko,” Yata said. “You can’t just keep being like this. I’m _worried_ about you, okay? I meant what I said in the park. You’re still my best friend. I want you to be all right again. Even if you don’t want me anywhere around you, that’s fine. But I’m not letting you go back to destroying yourself. I’m not going to let someone I care about walk away from me again without understanding anything.” 

“Hmmph.” Fushimi gave a bitter laugh. “I’m not the one who walked away, Misaki. If you can’t even realize that, it’s pointless to talk to you at all.” 

“What are you talking about? _You’re_ the one who threw it away.” Yata couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice and the sound of it sent a thrill down Fushimi’s spine. “You just…just _left_ me like it didn’t even matter to you, like our friendship didn’t mean a thing.” 

“All I did was deal the final blow to something that had already started to break.” Fushimi shrugged. “But I shouldn’t expect an idiot like you to understand that much. You were too busy staring at _him_ to ever notice what was right in front of your eyes.” 

“Wait, this is about _Mikoto-san?_ ” Yata’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Saru…that stuff you were saying before, at the park…you didn’t really think that, right? I mean—I _never_ abandoned you! You’ve always been — always been my most important — there’s no way I’d just throw you away or anything like that!” 

“But you did, didn’t you?” Fushimi couldn’t even find the energy to keep up the smile, staring down at his clenched hands below the water. “You didn’t need me anymore. You had your precious _Homra._ You changed things, not me. You broke the world first. _You_ did. Are you really so dense, Misaki? I only tore what had already begun to fray.” He raised a hand, watching the water drip down his wrist. “I don’t want anything like that. Not from you, not from the Blue King, not from anyone. Anything weak enough to break…I don’t have any need for it. I’ll break it myself, if it’s that fragile. Better to destroy it than grasp uselessly at pieces that will always fall through my fingers.” 

He could feel Yata staring at him and refused to raise his head. There was the sudden sound of movement and then a loud splash and Yata was there in front of him, kneeling in the tub fully clothed and staring at Fushimi with a steady gaze, reaching out with one hand to grasp Fushimi’s chin and force him to match that stare. 

“That’s bullshit, Saru.” Yata’s voice was quiet and forceful. “Did you really think you meant that little to me, that I’d let us break?” 

“Tch.” Fushimi pulled his head away with an irritated click of his tongue. He was too aware of their closeness and the feeling of the tub at his back made him feel caged in, with no method of escape. “You say that so easily _now,_ Misaki. You had already left me behind, left our world behind. You were too busy staring at _that man_ to even so much as look my way anymore.” There was some light of understanding that seemed to be dawning in Yata’s eyes and Fushimi gave a mocking laugh. The water felt too hot and he wanted to tear off his skin to make himself cool. “You never understood that at all, did you Misaki? How _utterly miserable_ that place was for me.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yata lowered his head and his fists clenched. “Saruhiko…if you weren’t happy, why didn’t you just tell me that?” 

“And you would have listened,” Fushimi scoffed. “You really are all the same. Such cheap little words. ‘Happiness.’ _‘Family.’_ It was so easy to break them all, and you still act as though they mean something.” 

“It does mean something!” Yata said forcefully. “You were always one of us, Saru. Even—even if you weren’t happy, me and Mikoto-san and Anna and everyone, we always saw you as part of Homra.” 

“Should I be thankful for that?” Fushimi sneered. “Are you bestowing a precious honor on me, _Misaki?_ ” He laughed. “As though I wanted to be. I was always apart from the rest of you, from the very start.” He very deliberately raised a hand and raked it across the burn on his chest, savoring the way Yata’s wide eyes followed the movement. “So don’t patronize me. I don’t have any need for Kings or clans. Just another thing that crumbles and leaves nothing behind…and nowhere to go….” Fushimi’s hands suddenly felt very cold and he pushed them under the water to warm them. 

“It hurts, right?” Yata said quietly, and Fushimi didn’t look up. “Saruhiko, I—I get it, okay? The way I feel about Mikoto-san…you didn’t feel the same way. And that’s fine, you know? I don’t understand how you felt about your King either, and that’s okay too. But you can’t keep letting yourself be like this. You gotta believe in someone sometime, Saruhiko. Nothing’s ever gonna stay totally the same forever. If you give up the moment anything bad happens, you’ll never get anywhere.” 

Fushimi didn’t answer. His skin looked gray to his own eyes, everywhere but the bloody scars on his arms and the burn on his chest. 

“You don’t have to believe in me if you don’t want to.” Yata took hold of him again, made him look up, and even in a sea of gray there was Yata’s red hair and bright eyes that had always been there. Even when his world had been nothing but gray there had always been color there, in Yata. 

“Your Kings did care about you, Saru,” Yata said firmly. “Not just the Blue King, either. Mikoto-san too. Kusanagi-san told me that you disappeared last night. It’s freezing out there and it’s been snowing all night and you don’t even have a damn coat on. But you’re still okay, Saruhiko. You’re still alive. Do you know why? Because when I found you in the park, you were _glowing_. Red and blue, two colors. That’s what was keeping you warm. So what the hell do you think that _was,_ besides both of your Kings protecting you?” 

“That…was…” Fushimi’s words trailed off weakly. Yata was bright and full of color and Fushimi could just remember it, being there in the cold and the gray, feeling like he couldn’t move or breathe, snow falling around him. He remembered kneeling in the snow, cold and numb, nowhere to go and nothing left to hold on to. 

And then there had been two colors in his mind, warm, and even as he’d curled around that warmth he had felt something beyond that — familiar, somehow, two shadows hovering just beyond his range of vision, and a feeling like a comforting hand upon each shoulder. 

“You’re still here, Saru.” Yata was still looking at him, half-soaked and ridiculous-looking there in the tub but not caring a bit, his eyes focused only on Fushimi. “You could’ve died out there before anyone even knew you were gone. But you’re still here. No one’s abandoned you, Saruhiko. Even if they’re gone, they haven’t abandoned you at all. And—and I won’t abandon you either. I’m looking at you now, okay? Your Kings protected you long enough for me to find you. So let me take care of you, all right?” 

Fushimi looked away, hands clenching, closing his eyes as if doing that could make Yata disappear. And even then behind his eyelids he could still see it: that light, red and blue together, and in the middle of it all Misaki who had always been his world’s brightest color. 

Something in him that had been tightly wound slowly relaxed, and Fushimi gave a small, quiet laugh. 

“You look ridiculous, Misaki.” There was no mocking in his voice and Fushimi couldn’t help but smile at Yata’s sudden baffled look. “You’re an impulsive idiot, like always.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who’s been sitting in the snow all night without even a coat on.” Yata splashed a little water in Fushimi’s face and Fushimi immediately retaliated, soaking Yata’s bangs. Yata started to pull back and Fushimi almost instinctively grabbed at Yata’s wrist. Yata paused, surprised, and then after a moment’s hesitation Yata pressed his own hand over Fushimi’s. 

“Don’t leave.” The words that had always been etched in Fushimi’s mind somehow seemed to have torn themselves loose and Fushimi almost didn’t realize he’d spoken until a moment after the words came out of his mouth. “Don’t leave me, Misaki.” 

“Not gonna leave.” Yata gave him a shaky smile. “You have to trust me this time, all right? I’m not going to leave you, Saruhiko. I never planned to. I told you way back, right? If you call for me I’ll come no matter how far away I am. So you just have to trust me, and call.” 

Fushimi didn’t reply, not even sure what he wanted to say. The part of his mind that never could be quiet was whispering again, about worlds that broke and people that always left, and there was still gray lingering on the edges of his vision. But in front of him still there was Yata, bright and solid and _real_ , looking at him with a straightforward gaze that made Fushimi feel almost as though he could drown in it if he just let himself go, and Fushimi didn’t know what to say. 

“Bandages.” Fushimi held his arms straight out, his face slightly turned away as he spoke. Yata stared at him blankly. “You said you were going to bandage them, right? So go ahead.” 

Understanding seemed to dawn on Yata and he smiled, dazzling like the sun, and Fushimi couldn’t tear his eyes away as Yata clambered out of the tub and reached for the bandages. 

For the first time in a long while Fushimi felt as though he could breathe, and he lay back and let Yata bind his wounds. 

\-- 

The computer network had gone down for the third time that day but Awashima couldn’t quite bring herself to mind. 

The repairs to Scepter 4 headquarters were complete, or at least as complete as they were likely to get. Awashima cast her gaze around the room. Her presentation had been more or less well-received, and she’d managed to procure something of an alliance between Scepter 4 and the two remaining active Kings. Scepter 4 was now nominally under the jurisdiction of the Silver King but it had been made clear in their own private negotiations afterward that the Silver clan would allow Scepter 4 as much autonomy as possible, with the Silver and Red clans only interfering in their work in emergency situations that might require a King’s intervention. If a situation occurred where another clan wished to override the protocols of Scepter 4 the three clans would negotiate a solution between them that was hopefully beneficial to all. If nothing else it had been fully agreed that there had been enough fighting and death between the different Kings. It was time to change things. 

_Perhaps this is something the Captain would want as well._ Awashima smiled to herself. It was a pointless wish, perhaps, but she liked to think that maybe this had been the outcome Munakata had ultimately hoped for when he’d turned his sword against the Green King, knowing what would happen afterward. 

From behind her Hidaka made a squawking noise as his computer started to spark and the smile turned into a sigh. Scepter 4’s building had been rebuilt and their clan restored, but all her negotiating had not quite managed to restore their budget as well. The building was, as Doumyoji had so eloquently complained earlier, “held together with chewing gum and duct tape.” Their computer systems were still in poor shape. Enomoto and several of the others were working on that but it was slow going. 

Their forces were smaller as well. The entire Special Forces team had returned — she had expected that — and she’d been pleasantly surprised by the number of members from other departments who had returned as well. She’d run into Yoshino Yayoi while checking on the records department and had received a very enthusiastic greeting dampened only slightly by the noticeable absence of one of the other important members of the department. Zenjou Goki’s whereabouts had been unknown by the end of the battle with the Green King and remained so, whether he had fallen in battle or had decided that his path no longer involved Scepter 4 was unclear and Awashima had chosen to let the mystery lie for now. If he no longer wished to be part of them she had no desire to push him. She trusted Yoshino would be fine heading the department by herself and Awashima had already decided that any member who chose not to return was free to do so. She might have been their leader now but she was no King. She would not order anyone to follow her who no longer wished to. 

The hardest part so far was getting used to being called ‘Captain’ but Awashima supposed that would come in time. She would have to find herself a new second in command, someone who she could trust to carry out her orders the way she always had for Munakata. There was the matter of choosing a third, as well, but she couldn’t deny that she had specific hopes in that department. 

And even as the image came into her mind of the person she had seen only briefly since that hectic day before her hearing, she caught sight of a familiar figure hovering in the doorway, posture slightly hunched in a manner that made it hard to tell if he was unsure or simply just bored. 

Fushimi had put his coat back on, still tattered even though the bloodstains had been cleaned away, and he was looking around with a hesitance that suggested he didn’t quite know what to do but wasn’t willing to admit it. Awashima walked over to meet him. 

“We will need to get you a new uniform,” she said by way of greeting, and Fushimi stiffened slightly in surprise. His features relaxed almost immediately and he looked away from her, slightly sulky in the old familiar way. “And a new sword, I believe.” 

“…I guess.” Fushimi shrugged noncommittally. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. 

“I expect good work from you, Fushimi-kun.” Awashima kept her gaze steady. “You are, after all, third in command of Scepter 4.” 

His head jerked up then, as if she had said something entirely unexpected, and she smiled at him. He looked away quickly and clicked his tongue as if to indicate that what she had said hadn’t in any way surprised or pleased him. 

“Enomoto-kun is attempting to get Scepter 4’s computer systems stabilized,” Awashima continued. “Unfortunately it seems to be a bit beyond his current capabilities. Therefore, I leave the situation in your hands. The records department is doing their best to salvage what they can from the paper files, but the sooner you can get everything properly stored in the database the better.” There was another yell from Hidaka behind them and the slight smell of something burning. Awashima swallowed a sigh. “Start with Hidaka-kun, if you could.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Fushimi’s answer was exactly the way she remembered, politeness just bordering on insolence. He started past her and then paused, hands twitching for just a moment towards his arms and then clearly stopping as he consciously lowered them to his sides. “….I’m sorry.” 

The words were quiet, almost grudging, but clearly sincere and Awashima stared at him wide-eyed. Fushimi clicked his tongue again, obviously uncomfortable, and continued past her towards where Hidaka was desperately trying to handle his smoking computer. Upon seeing Fushimi he smiled brightly and said something friendly-sounding that Awashima couldn’t quite hear and Fushimi answered with words that weren’t half as sharp as they normally were. Across the room Awashima could see Akiyama’s head shoot up and a smile cross his face as he caught sight of Fushimi. Doumyoji’s head popped up from under a desk where he’d been fiddling with cables and he yelled Fushimi’s name and waved happily, and was summarily ignored. 

Fushimi reached over to take control of Hidaka’s keyboard and Awashima could see that his arms were freshly wound in clean bandages, and the one part of her that had still been on edge finally relaxed. 

“Captain Awashima!” Someone called for her, and with a confident step Awashima moved forward to answer. 

— 

Fushimi shifted nervously as he stood in front of the apartment door. There was a key clutched tightly in one white hand. 

Work had been more tiring than he cared to admit and he was unused to traveling further than his dorm room just to get some rest. He’d been slightly galled when Awashima had sent him home early, stating she hadn’t completely cleared him for active duty yet, but in truth his arms had started aching badly an hour before and he’d been more than a little grateful to get away. He’d gotten most of the computer systems working anyway, and hopefully all his hard work wouldn’t end up getting spoiled by idiots in his absence. 

The door in front of him was dark brown wood and the sky outside had been deep blue. His arms throbbed, but he didn’t so much as touch the bandages that Yata had so carefully wrapped for him. 

Fushimi took a deep, steadying breath and turned the key in the lock. 

And almost as soon as the door opened Yata was there, jumping up from the couch to meet him, smile the brightest star in the sky and Fushimi thought perhaps he could get used to this after all. It wasn’t the same as before — it would never be the same as before, and his arms still ached in memory of the important thing he had lost. 

But Yata was here and Yata was smiling, and for the moment that was enough. 

“I’m home.” 

“Welcome back.”


End file.
